


Let's Do It

by Madalayna



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: A little kink is like mandatory or something, Accidental Plot, Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Bees do it, Birds do it, F/M, Falling In Love, Feels, First Meetings, First Time, Fitz is poor, Fitz wants to get his PhD already, Hand Jobs, I can't believe I'm adding this tag but, I mean it's Paris in the 20s, Jazz Age, Jemma is high falutin', Jemma wants to be a world-famous scientist, Let's fall in love, Light Angst, Loss of Virginity, Lots of Sex, Love at First Sight, Okay maybe a little plot, One Night Stands, One True Pairing, Oral Sex, Paris (City), Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Relationship Issues, Science, Sexual Experimentation, Sexual Liberation, all sorts of positions, bold Jemma, denial Jemma, even monkeys in the trees do it, even though she doesn't want to call it that, exhibitionist Jemma, foot job, head-over-heels Fitz, historical science, let's do it, liberal time period, light bondage Fitz, little bit kinky as we go along, she just can't admit that she loves him, shy Fitz
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-24
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-04-10 23:35:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 46,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4412288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madalayna/pseuds/Madalayna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's 1929, the age of jazz, and Jemma Simmons is studying at the Sorbonne in Paris, getting her PhD so she can be like her idol Madame Curie. She doesn't want to fall in love, she wants to be a scientist. Leo Fitz is on holiday after getting his degree from Cambridge. He's never met a girl like Jemma until they bump into each other at a jazz club one fateful summer night in the city of lights.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Anything Goes

**Author's Note:**

> Twenties playlist to listen to while you read: [Twenties 8-tracks playlist](http://8tracks.com/madalayna/let-s-do-it-let-s-fall-in-love)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment and tell me if you like it...

Jemma put on her green dress to go to the club. It had a plunging neckline, scalloped skirt and elaborate beading embroidered down the front in a fascinating geometric pattern. She thought of it as her lucky dress.

Since she came to Paris last year, she’d been exploring the jazz clubs one by one. Though it’d been nice to have a roommate for a bit after moving to a strange city, she’d recently gotten her own flat near Place Pigalle and found a new venue that was, by far, her favorite. It was large enough for a selection but small enough to be somewhat intimate and they always had hot music. Best of all, it wasn’t far from her flat.

Jemma had come to Paris to study at the Sorbonne. She already had one degree in biology and intended to read chemistry and become a world-renowned scientist—just like her idol, Madame Curie. Though without the bother of marriage and children that her role model had been forced to deal with. She could only imagine what such an amazing woman might’ve accomplished had she only had more time for her research.

Thus motivated, one of the first things she’d done upon arriving in Paris was rid herself of her virginity, thinking, (wrongly, as it turned out) that she would also divest herself of her bothersome urges for the opposite gender. It was almost nineteen-thirty after all—men and modern methods of pregnancy prevention were both within easy reach. She’d even gotten herself a dutch cap (which she hadn’t had a chance to use yet) from an unpleasantly disapproving French doctor with whom she’d been rather happy to pretend a significant language barrier.

The man she’d chosen to end her maidenhood had been a large, dark-haired Frenchman who’d been part of the band at the first club she’d gone to. He took her back to his flat and had looked almost insulted when she insisted he wear a sheath. Her subtle threat to leave had set him right, however. Later, after he’d stunned her to silence by kissing between her legs as he had her mouth, he’d pushed quickly into her, dragging an outright cry from her lips. She hadn’t thought to tell him that she lacked experience. He’d been more gentle after, but the intercourse aspect of the encounter had left her wondering what her flatmate was on about.

Jemma’s father had arranged her first flat, as well as Daisy, her flatmate. She was the daughter of an American industrialist tycoon that Jemma's father did business with. She was a sweet girl, here in Paris ostensibly to read literature at the Sorbonne but, really, she seemed to be studying men.

Daisy introduced her to the world of the clubs from nearly her first day. It was so incredibly different from anything that her previous life had prepared her for that it was a culture shock of the highest order. One night at the club, a woman dressed in a man’s tuxedo had come to her and asked her to dance. She’d obliged more out of curiosity than interest but, after a few dances, the woman had led her to the back hallways where couples sometimes went to be alone, then she'd kissed her like a man would. It’d grown heated, full of gentle lips and eager tongues, but the soft body pressed into her just wasn’t what she wanted. She indulged in it for a bit out of general inquisitiveness but soon ended the experiment. She quickly realized that she truly enjoyed something seemingly intangible about the opposite sex. A male aspect that she couldn’t quite define: something about their look, their scent, their feel, even the way they desired her—almost brutal in a way. It sent hot licks of flame to swirl and vex between her legs.

Now, she went to the clubs every so often to find a way to satisfy her drives when the heat of that flame became too great. She'd found a few that had sufficed. One, a red-headed Irishman, had been the first to make her reach the incredible crescendo that her roommate had tried to explain to her. Tonight, she was desperate to find someone with whom she might have even a hint of an interesting conversation with when she took him home. She generally found all of the men she met to be utter bores, even the ones she spoke with at the university couldn’t seem to keep up with her. By and large, she was forced to bluntly ask most of them to leave after they’d done their work (or made their attempt). She just couldn’t bear their bothersome chatter, especially not when she could be using the time for her studies.

She walked over the cobbled sidewalk the two blocks to the club with her heart already beating in anticipation. She discovered that she enjoyed the game that came before, though not quite as much as the act itself, if her partner was enthusiastic. She could only imagine how much more fun it might be were her contestant also a match for her in wit.

The music was boisterous as she entered the darkened foyer. She immediately stood out, being unescorted, but she ignored the occasional odd stare from a less-modern patron or two. She looked across toward the stage as she handed in her coat and hat, slipping the ticket into her small bag.

She went to the bar and ordered a whiskey before turning toward the crowded dance floor, flanked by its raised bandstand. Already, she saw him—her first applicant of the evening. She’d let him have a go at impressing her anyway.

He wasn’t very exceptional at first glance, though his eyes glittered sapphire even in the sparse light—no doubt reflecting an azure glint from some lamp above. Or perhaps she only noticed him because he was alone as he attempted to slip sideways through the crowd, heading directly for her. He was going against the flow of people surging toward the dance floor, and he looked, for all the world, like a salmon swimming downstream as the multitudes of his peers went up to spawn. Yes, most likely this was the reason—not his eyes. But, instead of addressing her, he  gave her only a cursory glance before he stepped up to the bar and tried to order a drink by speaking the worst French she’d ever heard.

“Bonjour, parles-vous anglais? Puis-je acheter un whiskey?” he asked, but his pronunciation was terrible, his grammar horrid.

“ _Tu_ ,” she said helpfully, leaning in closer to his ear, so he might hear her over the music.

“Excuse moi?” he asked, in his painful accent as he angled away from her.

“It’s _tu_ , not _vous—_ at least, in _that_ context—“ But she cut herself off, noticing that he looked a similar age to herself and, in the less glaring light near the bar, his eyes were more of a bright sea-blue. She also couldn't help appreciating his thick, sandy curls or how his startlingly unshaven whiskers glowed gold in the overhead lamplight. Then, she saw how his eyes slid up and down, roving over her appreciatively, before returning to her face. This wasn’t uncommon in the clubs, as uncouth as it had seemed to her at first. Although the way he did it was unlike what she’d grown used to in her time here. His expression was full of something like reverence as he took full notice of her. “Well, I’m sure you understand,” she finished as the bartender slid her drink over to her.

He was nodding vacantly, seemingly dumbstruck as he gazed at her. At least, until he finally shook himself and managed to choke out, “Ehm, yes. Er—you’re English, are you, then?”

She couldn’t help but smirk as she nodded. “A Scot, unless my ear deceives me.”

He looked nervous suddenly—intimidated even—as he nodded. It was sweet, she thought, the way he was so guileless. She instantly decided she was tired of the other kind, too worldly and smug. This time perhaps she would be the artful one, the one to take the lead.

“I’m Jemma,” she said with a lilt to her voice. He seemed utterly mesmerized and he just stared at her, until she added, “And, you are?”

“Oh, shite—“ he said, then looked at her in a wide-eyed panic. “Oh, I shouldn’t’ve said that, for God’s sake,” he spluttered, clearly flustered. Then, realizing what he’d just said, he clapped a hand to his mouth and, upon dropping it away again, stuttered, “I’m–I’m sorry. God—I mean, Jesus, er— _what_  the _hell_ is wrong with me?” He was shaking his head in disbelief but, when he glanced up at her nervously, she couldn’t keep herself from falling into giggles. “I can’t believe I cursed in front of—ugh, I can’t speak to girls, er, ladies. _Fuck._ ” He threw his hands up in defeat at the last and she had to cover her mouth to stop her loud cackles. “I _really_ hope you’re not religious,” he said, eyeing her warily and, when she managed to tame her laughter enough to shake her head, he held his hand out to shake. “I’m, ehm, I’m Fitz.”

Instead of taking his hand, she gulped in a calming breath and took up her whiskey before she boldly poured the whole fiery shot down in one swallow. Setting her glass back on the bar, she said, “Fitz, eh?”

His eyes were wide again—stunned at her unladylike behavior, no doubt. “Er, yeah. I’m called Leopold, _really_ , but, well, you know. That’s—it’s not the best…“ He nodded vaguely from side-to-side, “So, no one calls me that. I mean, my mum—she calls me Leo but—well... Shite, tha’s me runnin’ on again—ehm, so, yeah. _Yes._ ” He sighed and threw his hands up again. “I don’t know why I even bother tryin’ t’ speak t’ girls,” he blurted. “Especially not one as beautiful as you are. I always make a hash of it. Bloody hell!” His eyes were like saucers as he finally ran out of curses and nonsense and she was back to giggling again. She tried to ignore how his sweet shyness and nervous chatter was making her belly feel fluttery. And, how, when he’d said she was beautiful, it sent a thrill down her spine and set the tiny hairs to stand up on her arms.

Then the bartender brought him the whiskey he’d ordered, he snatched it up and knocked it back in one swallow just as she had. Immediately, his brows rose high and he began to cough into his fist. When he recovered to the level of throat clearing, he managed, “That was,  _ehm,_ a bit stronger than I was expectin’.”

“So, you just like to be called Fitz, then?” she questioned, trying to bring back something of their conversation to get past the awkwardness. She leaned backwards and put her elbows on the bar. The pose forced her to thrust her chest forward and made her— _endowments_ —quite prominent.

He swallowed heavily and squeaked, “Yes.”

“Why are you in Paris then, Fitz?” she asked, but her eyes were on the crowd ahead of them, she was debating if this shy, sweet boy was really what she was after tonight.

“Holiday,” he said, managing to get his voice almost back to normal.

That decided her. It certainly wasn’t his eyes or the fact he’d called her beautiful. Men who told her she was beautiful were a dime a dozen in Paris. The fact that she believed Fitz when he said it had no bearing on her decision—none at all.

“Are you going to take me out on the floor, then, Fitz?” she asked, looking away to the dancers and trying to maintain an air of aloofness.

His eyes flew to the dancing throngs of people and then briefly back to her figure—her endowments. “Eh, yes?” he said as if it were a question.

“You don’t sound certain,” she said playfully, trying earnestly to suppress the smirk that wanted to twist her lips. “Perhaps you’re already attached? Did you bring your lady-friend?” she asked, raising her brows expectantly and, though she kept her playful tone, she was trying to tamp down the disappointment that she could already feel poised to come forward should he say yes.

He shook his head rapidly back and forth. “No, no, I–I haven’t got, eh, a, ehm, a lady-friend,” he said, almost a bit nervously frantic to get the words out, and he blushed bright pink, clearly embarrassed at the zeal of his admission.

“Good,” she said, smiling in a way she hoped was alluring as she held her hand out to him. Without another word, he quickly fished some cash from his pocket, enough for both their drinks, and laid it on the bar before reaching for her hand.

The band started playing something lively just as she grasped onto his long, slender fingers. Though it oddly still felt scandalous to her, she hadn’t worn gloves and, as skin touched heated skin, she dragged in a long breath as her heart sped up just a bit. She didn’t know why but already she found herself warm and affected by the closeness of the room. Because surely, that’s what it was. After all, they hadn’t even gotten to the floor yet. He’d barely touched her.

 


	2. Let's Misbehave

Fitz led her out toward the whirling mass of dancers. The music was whipping up to an energetic pace and the people were really kicking up their heels—some even yipping in their excitement. He was already horribly nervous, so he knew this was going to be a disaster. He could do a foxtrot, maybe a bit of a one-step or, if truly pressed, even something approximating a quick-step but most of the faster dances were just mysterious to him. He didn’t have much time for dancing these days.

He licked his dry lips and saw that the crowd had started up a Charleston with the new song. He sucked in an anxious breath and glanced at his would-be partner. She was just passing under a bit of light from above and he noticed that—though her irises were ostensibly dark amber—her pupils were ringed with a slight, uneven circle of green that matched her dress. He felt his knees go weak as she smiled up at him, wrinkling her nose endearingly.

He was nearly startled when she'd first corrected him. He was prepared for some hoity-toity Frenchwoman to start chastising his _perfectly adequate_ French and he’d been ready to run off at the mouth—but then he'd really looked at her. Christ, she was a bloody vision in that green dress. She had a peacock feather in her chestnut hair which she wore cut above her shoulders in the style that most of the Paris women seemed to favor. Somewhere along the line, his brain had come back to working and he'd realized she was English, not French. Her large, dark eyes (tinged with that slight touch of green, he now saw) had hesitated over him appraisingly—nearly enough to make him blush.

Then she'd smirked and called him a Scot. His hackles had gone up, preparing to be offended but her face—with its large constellation of tawny freckles—was easy, playful and so bloody gorgeous. He found himself flattered by her unanticipated interest. Then, as he allowed his thoughts to linger over her dusky pink lips, he realized that they were truly a thing of beauty. They were worthy of sculptures, paintings, epic odes—those lips were the most brilliant thing he'd ever seen. He decided staring too long at them might spoil him for all other women. He was a pathetic, weak man and he absolutely knew it.

He made a fool of himself but, for the life of him, he couldn’t remember what he’d said. Except for her lovely name—Jemma—he really couldn’t recall what _she'd_ said either until she asked if he’d take her out for a dance. He was an abysmal dancer but he’d be an idiot to say no to a girl like that, regardless of what she asked for. She was the type of woman you did things for, even built your life around, given the chance. At least, most men would. Truth was, if she could put together a few coherent thoughts, he’d be mad to ignore _anything_ she said. Not that such as her was likely to give him much notice after their brief dance was ended. She could likely bat her eyes and have any bloke she wanted in a heartbeat. He was probably just conveniently located more than anything. Or maybe he’d given her a laugh with his French and she’d only taken pity on him.

He’d been in Paris for not quite two weeks and already he realized they did things a fair bit differently than at home. He was only here on holiday because he’d just gotten his engineering degree from Cambridge and been awarded a scholarship to attend Queen Mary’s in the autumn for advanced studies in aeronautics. Knowing he’d kill himself with work, Hunter—his flatmate for the last two years—had dragged him on this celebratory excursion during the break.

Up to this point, Hunter was the one having all the fun and he’d not even graduated yet. Fitz couldn’t complain too much though, Hunter’s father was a well-to-do merchant and his friend was footing most of the bill for their impromptu trip. So far though, this girl was the best thing to’ve happened to him in the time he'd been here. Really, he felt honored just taking her out on the floor, as if everyone would see her on his arm and think there must be something special about him to attract such an extraordinary woman's interest.

He smiled to himself at the thought. He knew it wasn’t true because just the idea that a girl like her would find anything special about him was clearly absurd. No reason he shouldn’t enjoy it while it lasted though.

He tugged at his collar and then took her by the waist as they joined in, breaking through the edge of the flocking mass of dancers. He barely clung to her as they tried to keep up with the rapid movement of the churning crowd. God, he was bloody awful but she was brilliant at it. He was very nearly mesmerized by her graceful movements. She led him a bit (not that he minded) toward the center of the press where the less enthusiastic participants seemed to make their home.

She drew him closer, letting him fall into something more like a one-step as she moved against him. Her breath was fluttering out onto his neck, making the short hairs on his nape perk up as she relaxed into him. He’d never had a dance like this before in his life. She was so close he could feel the softness of her breasts moulding pliantly to his chest. He closed his eyes, trying to commit the moment to memory because he knew that, too soon, it would be over. The smell of her hair wafted up to his nose and he didn’t know what it was exactly but it was wonderful, flowery and sweet. Her fingers were clutching his shoulder very loosely but, every once in awhile, he’d turn her and then she’d squeeze. It sent a bolt of nervous energy straight to his flip-flopping stomach.

He looked down just as she looked up and she smiled—her lips pursing a little as if she were trying to stop herself. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her. Her porcelain skin, pale and freckled, dark lashes and perfectly arched brows over her eyes that—he really hoped—sparkled with intelligence and not just the dance-floor lighting. As she smiled, he watched the movement, took in the happy creases around her mouth and, again, her full pink lips. He wondered what her lips tasted like and if she would like the way he kissed her. He felt something crushing within him like a boulder falling through his insides when he remembered that he’d likely never have the chance to find out the answer to either of those questions. Still, now was his opportunity to look, even if he never had one hope in hell for anything more. Being near to such perfection was its own reward, he decided, drinking in the sight of her.

“Christ, you’re beautiful.” He blurted out the thought with his eyes growing wide in alarm as he realized he’d well and truly said it aloud. His inability to keep his inner thoughts, just that—on the bloody _inside_ —was no doubt going to be the reason for his eternal bachelorhood.

Instead of looking offended at his lack of decorum, however, her eyes glittered even brighter in the high-contrast lighting near the bandstand and her smile grew impossibly larger. How was it even conceivable for her smile to be so wide and sweet? He felt a longing he'd never even imagined before.

“Come with me,” she said into his ear and took his hand in hers as she started to leave the floor.

“Ehm, alright,” he said allowing her to lead him, sure that this was it for him. He’d let his mouth run away from him again and now he was about to get the boot before their dance was even fully over.

But instead, with her fingers weaving together with his, she pulled him along to a door at the back of the hall—it was painted a bright blood-red but left unmarked as to its purpose. She gave him an odd, unreadable look before she pushed it open but it only gave way to a darkened hallway blocked by a red velvet curtain after a couple of meters. He wondered where they could be heading as they stepped inside. He let the door close behind him, and it dampened a great deal of the exuberant noise of the music and revelers on the other side. In the sudden calm, he heard an odd noise coming from the other side of the curtain. At first, it sounded like gentle sighing and then there was added in an occasional breathy moan. He felt his heartbeat speed up inside his chest and his ears grow hot when he recognized the soft sounds—and the likely reason for them.

Fitz did have a girl back in Cambridge before he'd graduated, Rosalie. They’d been together over six months until she broke it off with him just after he got his new scholarship to go to Queen Mary’s in the autumn.

The day he found out, he’d been ecstatic and eager to share his news. He'd even borrowed Hunter’s car to take her out for a nice evening. He'd known it would be problematic for them when he had to leave. After all, it was quite a distance to travel to see one another, and he hadn’t been sure how she’d take it considering the difficulties involved. Still, he'd hoped she would be happy for him, at least. But, just in case, he thought a nice meal might soften the blow a bit. He was so nervous over her reaction that he waited until the end of the date when they’d normally chat a bit and—if he was lucky—snog. Much to his dismay, she cried, dropping her face into her hands as she sobbed.

Then, with her eyes all weepy and red, she completely spun him about by kissing him feverishly with her tears wetting his face and making him cringe. She’d rewarded him with a bit of petting the few times he’d borrowed Hunter’s car before, but not like that night. She’d laid across the long seat and slid his hands up to her breasts, making him gasp at her sudden boldness. Instantly inflamed, he'd caressed her through her dress and felt greedy for wishing he could see them as well. At her urging, he carefully laid himself over the top of her and then kissed her with an enthusiasm he hadn’t often felt for her. Not long after, with her fingers shaking somewhat, she moved his hand up her thigh and whispered in his ear, “You can put it in me, if you want.”

There was really no question as to what “it” was because “it” was rock-hard and pressing insistently into her hip at that moment. But, immediately, he knew what she was about—she wanted him to stay there. She’d never even come close to letting him touch her there with his hand, much less let him do— _that_. Perhaps she expected that he’d marry her afterwards or—worse still—maybe she was hoping he might get her in the family way so he’d have no choice. He looked at her—all flushed and mussed from his kisses—and he realized that if she wanted to selfishly hold him back then she likely didn’t really love him as she often proclaimed. He knew words were often cheap but, until that moment, he’d believed her. He knew now it was because he’d wanted to believe it. Her family wasn’t well-off, she had four sisters and the two eldest were married to men who were quite poor. With one university degree under his belt, his prospects undoubtedly looked much better to both Rosalie and her family. She was the first girl to ever pay him any notice, but that wasn’t much of a reason to squander his entire future. Not on a girl who wouldn't support him in his goals and would, in fact, attempt to manipulate him for her own aims.

He sat up stiffly and, unable to look at her, said, “I don’t think I want to.”

She pulled her dress down in a flash and, with a hard look of contempt as much as offense, said, “I think you’d better take me home, then.”

As he dropped her off, she slammed the door and then turned back to glare at him through the open window. In a furious whisper, she told him, “I expect you’ll find a _new_ girl there but she’ll never love you like I did. I hope I never see you again until I _die_.” With tears flowing down her cheeks, she ran up the steps and into her house. He felt badly enough to consider going to check on her but her dad was a bit of a drunk and he didn’t think he wanted to have _that_ conversation just then. Heading back to his flat, ultimately, he'd decided he was rather relieved she'd been the one to toss _him_ , it'd been a nightmare the other way round.

The next day, on the way to class, Hunter clapped him on the shoulder and congratulated him. “Good on you, mate. Never shag 'em without _insurance_.” He nodded approvingly at Fitz and gave him a little round tin from his pocket. “That’s what you use on our little adventure, yeah?”

Fitz read the words on the tin and immediately stuffed it into his own pocket and out of sight—nervously looking about to make sure no one could've seen. “Christ, Hunter! You’re bloody indecent, you know that?”

Hunter just shrugged, smirking devilishly.

Rosalie was attractive enough, with strawberry blond hair and a decent figure, but he’d never really felt like she was the one for him. She was just the only one who’d been interested, to that point, anyway. It didn't help that he always felt he was speaking too far over her head. He didn't think she understood anything about him at all—not what he did or even who he was—much less, what he hoped to be. He wanted that understanding but it seemed an unrealistic expectation somehow. None of it was exactly surprising to him, he’d yet to meet a woman or man who could match him when it came to intelligence. He presumed that at some point after he finally graduated, he’d meet a nice girl who, at the very least, wasn’t completely dim and was, hopefully, a bit nice to look at as well.

He never imagined that the most beautiful girl to ever speak to him would invite him into some sort of den of iniquity for Christ knew what purpose! His eyes must’ve been wide with shock because she looked suddenly slightly anxious and uncomfortable.

Then, his eyebrows came together in confusion. “Is this—ehm, I mean, are you—“ But he could hardly finish the thought because—for the love of all things holy!—what if he was _wrong_?

The idea that she just wanted a dance was wiped from his mind by those tantalizing sounds. However, his brain could only return two reasons for a girl like her to be interested in him in such a way. The first being, that she might be a prostitute. He hadn’t much money on him and he tended to doubt he had enough to interest a woman who looked like her. That led into the second, that perhaps she brought him back here to rob him. Again, he hadn’t much, so he wasn’t risking much. A third suddenly occurred to him, in that, Paris clearly operated on a different system of morality than what he was generally used to back home (Hunter excepted) but this girl was British, so was she just—acclimatized?

He wasn’t used to women being forward at all. Most of the girls he’d met at uni and the local social enclaves seemed to be of the God-fearing variety—willing to go far enough to get a bloke hooked, but no farther. Being a scientist—where all the facts were well-represented, not to mention, having read Russell and that—Fitz wasn’t religious himself. And really, he saw that as an even greater rationale to keep to a high standard of ethical behavior, with it being a completely personal responsibility and no absolution forthcoming from the heavens. His primary rule was, in essence, do no harm. That really encompassed quite a lot when you considered the ramifications, which he always tried to do. So, he didn’t see relations as _inherently_ wrong—humans were animals after all, designed with a drive to procreate—however, he did see where it could cause harm. (For instance, he would've never left Rosalie in a fix, had that ever been an issue.) But, with the preventative measures available these days, if the girl was, in all respects,  _willing,_ then, he didn’t see the wrong in it. That really just left his own sense of propriety to get past—then again, there was also his innately bashful nature.

Jemma leaned back against the wall with her hands behind her back and gazed up at him coyly in the dim light. “I only thought it might be an interesting experiment,” she said, looking away indifferently. His heart beat out a quick-step at her words.

“Experiment?” he questioned with interest, this was language he could understand.

She was nodding slowly. “Yes, I thought it would be a fascinating experiment to see if those lovely lips of yours are any good at kissing.”

Said lips grew slack in astonishment at her words. Was this really happening to _him_ of all people? Some distant part of his mind was waving its arms and trying to get his attention, shouting and carrying on as it bleated, ‘ _Fitz, you complete and utter numpty! Is this really the best idea?_ ’

“God, yes,” he answered his idiot brain out loud.

“Really?” she questioned, brows shooting up incredulously at his seemingly confident answer to her question.

“What? No! I—ehm, I mean—Jesus, I hope so,” he finished lamely, grimacing at his own ineptitude. Rosalie was the only girl he'd ever kissed and she'd never given him direction one way or another. He might be terrible for all he knew. 

A slow smile curved her lips and warmth spread through his chest as he fancied that her smile was just for him. He found he was mirroring her without conscious thought as the corners of his lips drew upward. He felt something like happiness bubbling up within, until she fingered the lapel of his jacket and he felt his stomach clench as she applied a gentle pull, drawing him to her by the lightweight wool—so very slowly.

He had a moment to think as he leaned in closer—while his gaze flitted between her dark eyes and her tender lips—that if someone told him right this instant that magnetism could exist between human beings he would most definitely believe it to be true. It was like some strange, invisible force was drawing them together. It seemed to tug from somewhere deep in his chest—a wire hooked into his heart. It was coiled like a spring and it felt like the tension of it could bring them back together no matter what. He daydreamed it was connected to her in such a way that just a flicker of her darkened eyes could shock his system with a charged thrill of excitement or awaken a sudden swell of joy. He’d never experienced anything like this connectedness in his life and he found that he wished it would never end.

No longer pulling him forward, she ceased her urging once his lips were quite near to hers. He was lingering just inches away from her lovely, generous mouth, enjoying the sensation of the light coolness of her breath fanning over his face. When he didn’t close the distance right away, she reached up to cup his cheek and then began to trace her thumb over his lips, forcing him to drag in a sudden startled gasp.

He closed his eyes to savor the feeling as the edge of her thumb grazed over his sensitive skin and, when she paused just over the center, he kissed the pad. Without warning, he felt her lips on his—brushing then, sliding gently, before they were opening and he could feel the wet motions of her tongue against his lips. Rosalie had never let him do that and even told him once it was filthy and obscene. He opened his mouth and tentatively let his tongue go out to meet Jemma's. She tasted of peppermint, whiskey and something else lovely that he couldn’t define. Things went rapidly after that with her arms going tightly around his neck, fingers running furrows into his hair, and she was up on her toes with her slick tongue doing fantastic things with his until she pulled back, her breath coming shudderingly over his cheeks.

“Fancy walking me back to my flat?” she asked, placing another kiss on his lips before he could answer. She sucked his lower lip between hers and gave it a light nibble. More heat flooded low into his already excited nether regions as she let him go with a little sound of suckling. Then he remembered that he left the little tin that Hunter had given him back at the flat they were sharing for the summer. _Fuck!_

“I, ehm, I s’pose. I could, yeah. I mean, yes,” he mumbled in a low voice.

She grinned, perhaps taking his hesitance for shyness. It wasn’t his usual timidity though, it was worry. He hadn’t expected anything like this to happen. There was so much to think about in this scenario his brain had no idea where to go first.

She rolled onto her toes again, pressing into him, and then her soft, perfect lips were kissing him with her fingers splaying over his chest. She suddenly plunged her tongue into his mouth and he made an awful, ungentlemanly moan over her lips. When she parted from him, he had to hold back a whimper at the separation and he tried to chase her lips as she came back down again to the flats of her feet.

She was grinning, showing so many of her straight white teeth as she held him back, pushing on his shoulders gently. “Like that, do you?” He leveled her with his best withering look but she only laughed. “So, a definite yes, then?”

“You’re bloody wicked, aren’t you?” he asked, chuckling lightly, even happily, as he grasped her around the waist and pulled her back against him.

As if to prove his point, she cupped under his jaw and kissed him just below his ear, making him shudder. “Oh, I like that,” she said smugly, kissing him there again with the same response. “Hmm, I wonder how often I’ll get the same result to _this_ experiment,” she said. It registered somewhere in his head that she was talking science but not the part that was currently controlling his conscious thought.

He brought his hand up to her breast as she kissed below his ear again and this time she shivered under _his_ touch. She hummed her approval as he caressed her, stroking the hardened center as it rose to his encouragement. “You like that, then?” he asked in a low voice he hardly recognized as his own.

“Mm-hmm,” she said and scraped her teeth down his throat until he gasped. Such a little imp, he thought. Was she actually trying to provoke him? If she were attempting to goad him into some sort of competition, he had a feeling she would always be the winner at this particular game. They'd only just met and he was wrapped around her little finger as it was. Still, seemed a shame not to give it a go.

He began to press her more fully to the wall and she shifted willingly, looking up at him with interest. He moved his fingers through her hair, tilting her head so he could kiss her neck just beneath her jaw. He brought the tip of his tongue out to tickle her skin in a teasing little pattern of infinity symbols. He freed his fingers from her hair and moved them down to caress her other breast, thumbing her nipple through the cloth. Kissing lower on her neck, he used his teeth as she had, dragging them downward until she sighed loudly and completely unapologetically by his ear.

Rosalie had never made any noises when he kissed her, just the occasional grunt of disapproval when he did something she didn’t like. Though once when he’d borrowed the car, after kissing for a good while, she’d asked for him to take her home. He’d pleaded softly with her to stay a little longer and—with almost the attitude of a chore, he realized in hindsight—she’d reached into his trousers, ignoring his spluttering mortification, and stroked him until he spurted into her hand. “Lord, what a bloody mess,” she’d cried afterward as he gave her his handkerchief, still trying to remember how to breathe.

The sound Jemma made was long, breathy and sexual in a way he never imagined hearing from a woman, but then she was placing her hands on his shoulders and pushing him back firmly. He felt the blood draining from his face. _Shite! Already, I've gone and mucked it up!_

He was opening his mouth, preparing to plead for forgiveness, when she said, “Perhaps—you should walk me back to my flat now.” She smiled up at him and suddenly, with the simple curve of her lips, it seemed everything was right again. If he _were_ religious, he’d thank God that nothing was spoiled by his blundering just yet. He nearly felt like praying, even now, that he wouldn't see it all go to the devil before his eyes. The very idea was devastating and it hadn't even happened yet. He had no clue what was in front of him through the evening but it seemed unlikely he'd be able to traverse it without making some terrible gaffe to end it all. Nevertheless, nothing ventured...

Nodding to her, he tried to catch his breath. “I—ehm, my flatmate—I should let him know I’m goin’,” he managed, trying to put himself back in order—his clothes, at least, if not his mind. He wasn’t sure that was ever going back the way she’d found it.

She was doing the same, tidying her hair and her dress where he'd made it nearly come off her shoulder in his fervency. “I’ll meet you at the coat check?” she suggested.

“Yeah, okay. _Yes_ ,” he agreed readily. He headed out when she swept her hand toward the door indicating he should go first.

He made his way through the crowded club as quickly as possible without being outright ill-mannered, rushing back to the table where Hunter was sitting with, now, _three_  bloody women.

“Hunter—“

“Hey! Fitz! Where’ve you been, mate?" Indicating the newest addition to the party, he said, "This is—Adéle, was it?” But Fitz barely glanced at her when she nodded, carelessly bobbing his head in acknowledgement. “I’ve been tellin' 'er how—“

“Hunter, see, I’ve—eh, I’ve been out dancin’ with this girl and I’ve, ehm, got t'—well...” he trailed off, not sure how to finish without insinuating anything indelicate as he looked at the three girls surrounding the table and back to his flatmate, “go an', ehm, see her..." His face was blushing furiously and his heel was tapping nervously against the floor as he tried to choke out the words, "...back to her, ehm—flat—”

“I see, _do_ you, now?” Hunter asked and winked unmistakably with a smirk turning up the corners of his mouth. “Nice, girl, eh?”

“Yeah—Yes, _very_. It’s just—I’ve forgotten somethin’ back at the flat. Somethin’ quite important. Y’ know, for—ehm,  _insurance_ purposes,” he said, lacing his tone with meaning and pleading with his eyes for his friend to understand before he died of humiliation.

“ _Oh,_ ” he said, drawing it out, his gaze shifting up toward the ceiling. “Right. Of _course_. You know, mate, I just happen to—“ He reached into his pocket and rooted around, finally pulling something out which he placed discreetly Fitz's his hand. He was astonished, this was the first time Hunter had likely ever been discreet in his life.

“Thank you,” he said, relief going through him as he stuffed the little tin in his pocket. “You have _no_ idea—“

“Best not to keep a lady waitin’,” Hunter interrupted, grinning in a pleased way, it seemed, for Fitz.

“Right. Yes. Thanks. You really are a good friend,” he said, his brows drawing together in surprise at his own words. He felt the truth of the notion all the time but never usually felt the need to mention it. What was this girl doing to him? Making him go all full of sentiment at the least provocation?

Hunter looked mildly touched, as he said, “You, too, mate. Now _go_." He wrapped one arm around the nearest girl and made a shooing gesture with his other hand. "Don't want 'er startin' without you.” Fitz blushed afresh at his innuendo even though he hadn't a clue what Hunter meant by it. Years of being forced to listen to his flatmate's bawdy stories had taught him the tone of voice he used for such things, if not many of the practical specifics of his—much more experienced—friend's racy lifestyle.

“Right.” _Bloody hell._  He set off again into the mob—hurrying, as much as he could, to the front of the club. Now that he had the means, he was just left with his mix of fear and nervous anticipation for the thing itself. That was, if he didn't bollocks it up with his big, stupid gob before it got to that stage.


	3. All of You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, life's not always perfect...right? NSFW at the end.

Jemma stood at the coat check, straightening her lightweight wrap, yet again, as she waited. How long did it take to tell someone you were leaving?

Bringing her fingers up to brush lightly over her lips, she thought about the kiss she’d just shared with— _Fitz_. She repeated the name in her mind. It seemed an odd thing to call someone but she sort of liked that about it. She had to own that she really enjoyed kissing quite a lot. Most of the men she’d taken to bed had been, at minimum, fairly decent at it. It was a first test. She felt if they couldn’t even be bothered to do that well, then how could she expect them to be anything other than terrible at the other bit?

This time though, it had been electric. The feel of Fitz’s lips adoring hers with kisses had made her heart beat wildly and teased the glow deep in her belly to bright flame. There was just something about his blue eyes and his eager mouth—she shivered involuntarily, her body full of anticipatory tension. She drew in a quick breath at the thought of him boldly moving her back to the wall and fondling her breast. She suspected he was rather inexperienced even so—the extent of which she had yet to fully determine. She just hoped she wasn’t making a mistake with this one. It was always a bit of a gamble. She congratulated herself on the fact he was only here on holiday.

She found that most of the men were very happy to leave things go as a one-off but a couple of them had been reluctant to merely count themselves lucky and leave it at that. They tended to be the less-experienced types and they occasionally got a bit— _persistent_. Still, it was nothing a false pregnancy scare hadn’t taken care of. She’d learned that little trick from Daisy who had, unfortunately, learned it after an _actual_ pregnancy scare.

Jemma shuddered inwardly at the thought of having to face that unfortunate prospect. She was extremely careful to avoid such an eventuality but she knew the possibility existed. She hated the thought of what she might have to do but she knew the life she wanted and nothing would prevent her from having it—certainly not fear. She believed that fear had its place in certain instances but most of it was due to ignorance, in her opinion, and she would never allow that particular brand of mindlessness to stop her doing anything. Blindly following traditional mores would never be something she could live with. She would always seek further knowledge and make her life’s choices according to science and wisdom.

She was just beginning to worry that he’d gone off the whole idea when she saw him coming through the edge of the crowd. She smiled spontaneously at seeing him and, when he caught sight of her, he started to raise a hand even though they were just across the foyer from each other. Her smile twisted into a slight smirk.

“Er, I—eh, found him,” he said breathlessly, once he’d crossed the room to meet her.

“Shall we, then?” she asked with a slight tip of her head toward the door.

“Right. Yeah. Yes, of _course_ ,” he said quickly, but she couldn’t tell if his words were agitated or just eager.

He held the door for her and when she pointed him in the right direction, he offered her his elbow and she took it, gratified by his courtesy. She didn’t always find that here in Paris and was impressed at his graciousness. Though she wouldn’t know it from just the look of him, she sensed somehow that he wasn’t used to a very high degree of social standing even though his manners, so far, were more than adequate. Something about his demeanor, she supposed. She didn’t place much store in the notion that some people were better than others based solely on right of birth but she believed that manners were quite important. It spoke of a respect and regard for the feelings of others that she highly approved of—especially in a lover.

He fidgeted restlessly as they walked, finally even reaching down to clutch nervously at her hand in the crook of his elbow. “You never said—eh, why're you here in, ehm, Paris?” he labored out in his unrest—his eyes were overly-wide again, his anxiety evident.

“I’m studying at the university,” she said. She didn’t know how to ease his worry, not even quite certain exactly what was causing it. Most of the men she chose were self-assured (or ultimately overconfident, as the case may be, much to her disappointment) so Fitz’s obvious nervousness was a bit beyond her current experience.

“Oh?” He looked less concerned and more interested, suddenly.

“Yes,” she started, but hesitated to bore him with the details of her studies, although some conversation seemed to be helping take his mind off whatever had him upset. “I’m reading chemistry at the moment.”

“Chemistry?” He sounded stunned. “You’re studyin' to be a chemist?”

“Well…” she said, looking away, trying to decide how much or little to say. “Not a chemist, per se,” she finally settled on. But when he looked like he couldn’t be more fascinated, she continued, “I mean, I’ve got my masters in biology from Oxford. I’m working toward a PhD now. Really, I consider myself a scientist first.”

His jaw worked up and down a few times but he seemed at a loss for how to respond. She sighed inwardly, assuming she must’ve gone too far and lost his interest.

Then, he blurted, “I—ehm—I mean, me, as well! A scientist, I should say. I’ve just got my engineerin' degree from Cambridge and I’m going on to Queen Mary’s next term to study aeronautics!” The words seemed to shoot from his mouth, piercing her like darts, and she couldn't help the sharp breath of cool air she sucked into her lungs.

“They have a wind tunnel, I’ve heard.” It left her mouth before she could prevent it.

“Yes!” he said, stopping and turning to face her. His eyes were wild with excitement.

“So, interested in designing aeroplanes, then?” she questioned, glancing at her feet and then back to his face. All his nerves were suddenly gone and now he was full of a passionate vivacity that she recognized all too well.

“Rockets to go into space, more like,” he said, grinning like a fool.

“I hear Goddard’s got that well in hand,” she said, instantly irritated at her inability to bite her tongue.

His eyebrows drew downward and he frowned a bit. “No, I don’t think so. I’ve read his paper and I think he’s not even come close yet. Solid fuel is a start but he’ll need to increase efficiency if he wants to—“

“Achieve effective exhaust velocity—yes,” she finished for him.

His mouth appeared to be gaping.

“It seems you’re right, he’s not come close to achieving a velocity that would allow a rocket to escape the Earth’s gravity.”

His mouth continued its slack expression.

“However, he’ll most likely get there, wouldn’t you say?”

He swallowed and blinked. “Ehm, maybe. I—well...I mean, the trick—well…” Staring blankly at her, he swallowed again and in the quiet of the empty street it sounded overly loud. “Sorry, did you say something?” he asked, at last.

She shook her head. “No, Fitz. Perhaps we should keep on? My flat’s just over there.” She pointed to her building a half block away.

“Right— _yes_ ,” he said a bit vacantly and offered his elbow again.

* * *

Bloody hell! He couldn’t believe that a woman so beautiful could be so intelligent. She wasn’t even studying engineering, and yet—God in heaven—and yet, she understood!

Everything was happening so quickly, he was almost overwhelmed. First, a beautiful woman asks him to dance, then she kisses him, then she’s bringing him back to her flat for—he could hardly think of it—but now, come to find out, she’s bloody brilliant! He could scarcely catch his breath. She seemed like the perfect woman. Perhaps he’d wake up to find it was all a dream? That was how likely it all seemed, anyway. Things like this did _not_ happen to Leo Fitz. He really didn’t think he had much to complain about in life but he’d certainly never felt he should perhaps buy the universe a gift for being so generous before.

Her building had no elevator and she was—to Fitz's great discouragement—on the top floor. By the time they reached the fifth, he was panting and had been forced to loosen his tie and collar. He cursed himself that he hadn’t started rowing as Hunter had urged him to.

“It’s just here,” she said, giving him a slight look of concern before getting her key from her small bag and turning it in the lock.

“A lot of stairs,” he breathed out in between gasps as he clung to the railing.

“Is it?” she questioned, pushing open the door and stepping inside. She switched on the lights and waited in the small entryway for him, looking slightly impatient.

Once inside, he realized that—first impressions to the contrary—this woman had absolutely no need for the trifling amount of money in his pocket. Her flat was richly, if somewhat sparsely furnished and neatly stacked books covered almost every surface in the main sitting area. There was a sofa on one side, a small kitchen to the other and he realized with a start that—beyond that—he was looking into her bedroom. Though it was somewhat sectioned off by a wardrobe and a silken screen. Still, he could see the large bed with its fabric canopy, even though the light in that part of the flat was dim. He thought the place was quite large enough to be comfortable but, even so, essentially consisted of just one room. Except, he noted, for a door off the bedroom portion that he assumed was the toilet. The entire wall on the sofa side was solid windows from about waist high and they even angled up onto the ceiling a bit so the light could stream in from above during the day. There was nothing to block it out but some gauzy white fabric that served for curtains which—at the moment—weren't even drawn. 

“’S a nice flat,” he said, a touch uneasy as he looked around, scanning the books on the table in front of him.

“Would you like something to drink?” she asked, slipping off her wrap and dropping it into a chair.

He shook his head, probably a touch more fiercely than necessary. “No. Ehm, no, thank you.”

Angling his eyes back to the books on the table as she removed her hat, he began to fidget nervously, tapping his fingers against his leg repetitively. He had no idea what he should be doing, if anything, and the numerous scientific texts on the table were almost soothing. He spied a thick pamphlet on the top of the stacks and read the cover.

He snatched it up from the table and declared, “I went to this lecture!” He looked over to see that Jemma had stepped closer and was attempting to see what was in his hand. He turned it so she might see.

“Oh, did you?” She sounded interested and it encouraged him to keep speaking through his nerves.

“Ehm, yes. At the Medical Research Club? I went with my, eh—my flatmate. He thinks he’s going to be a physician but…” He shrugged. “Well, he keeps talking about joinin' the army when he flunks out, ultimately.” He realized he was rambling a bit off topic and added, “It was quite fascinatin'. Though Dr. Fleming was a bit—” He cocked his head, trying to come up with something that wasn’t too crass.

“Dry?” Jemma suggested.

“Yes!” he cried in excitement over how she seemed to know what he was about to say before he even said it. Looking to her face, he was instantly drawn in by her comely features and charming expression. Her eyes were soft and warm but then he couldn't bring himself to tear his eyes from her mouth—lush, full and just so very kissable. He swallowed past a sudden lump in his throat and attempted to get back his train of thought. “Ehm—but his work was amazin'. Think of all the cures! I mean, bacteriology is just gettin' its foot in the door, really. But, yes, I think he’s likely got one of the biggest health breakthroughs we’ve seen since the invention of the modern microscope.” He dared a glance to check her response and her expression was changed, her lips drawn in a thin line as she looked absently at the pamphlet. His heart beat suddenly harder. He knew he was spoiling it but his brain offered him no clue as to how he might right things again. Because it was all he could think to do, he continued, “They’re developin' a microscope now that uses electrons instead of light and electromagnets in place of glass lenses, have you heard? It promises to revolutionize the technology.” Now her brows were drawn together in some look of uncertainty. _Oh, Jesus. Backpedal, Fitz, you git._ “I—eh, I had some ideas as to how Fleming—well, how he might be able to mass produce the mold strain… See you could use large tanks—”

But, then, before he even knew what was happening, she was pulling him down, her lips coming up to meet his—he could’ve cried right there, he was so relieved he hadn’t made her go off him altogether. Then he remembered he should probably kiss her back. He dropped the pamphlet from his hand and brought his arms around her.

* * *

Jemma was almost wondering if this was a mistake. He was so nervous—clearly quite inexperienced—and completely unsure what to do next. Then he started rambling about Fleming, microscopes and mass producing penicillium and suddenly her heart was beating as quickly as a rabbit’s. Without realizing she was going to do it, she pulled him down into a heated kiss—though, at first, all the heat was on her side. She was starting to rethink the tactic when he wrapped her up in his arms and, immediately, she settled against him as his tongue slipped industriously past her lips. She absolutely appreciated a man with a bit of motivation behind his actions.

She tugged down the loose knot in his tie and it slowed his fervency a touch but he continued languidly drawing on her lips as she began to undo the buttons on his waistcoat and then his button-down. His breathing was a bit ragged by the time she had his top opened up all the way so she might be able to finally touch him properly. She slipped her fingers along his warm belly and he gasped, pulling away from her mouth, though not taking his arms from around her.

She looked up at him innocently and moved her hands higher, surprised at how smooth his skin was with so little hair to interrupt the slide of her palms. He tipped his head back slightly and closed his eyes as she caressed him. She ran her splayed fingers over his ribs, chest and upward, under the thin cotton of his top until she was gripping his shoulders and the smoothness of muscle and bone beneath his skin. As she watched his serene face with glimmers of his enjoyment at her attentions passing over it, she felt that same speeding of her heart but also almost a swell of something—as if her chest were full and would soon burst with it.

No longer able to resist, she leaned in toward him to kiss and nibble his neck where he’d so carelessly exposed it to her. He let go a small murmur of appreciation. She moved lower, laying open-mouthed kisses to his chest as she ran her hands lightly over his ribs and around to his back. He started when she slid her tongue over his nipple, looking down at her with an odd look of fascination.

She decided it was as good a time as any to proceed to the bedroom. Standing fully, she took his hand, leading him back toward the bed. Though he followed willingly, his look of worry was very much renewed by the time they were positioned beside it. Ice breaking wasn't exactly Jemma's forte. Nor was making things less awkward. Thus informed, she still reached down and pulled at the hem of her dress, bringing it over her head. The look on his face once she had it off, was one of utter wonderment. She tossed the dress aside and then pulled the little decorative peacock pin from her hair to let it fall from her hand onto the nightstand.

As she stood there in her unmentionables, he just stared at her with his jaw a bit slack—though not quite gaping any longer, at least. _Hmm—how to get things moving again?_ She reached up to his shoulders and began slipping his layers of clothing off his arms. He seemed to come back to awareness, glancing at his garments as they slid down his arms to the floor.

She hesitated to press him any further. If he had some particular doubts, she didn’t want to force anything. She kicked off her shoes and slid back onto the bed.

“If you’re interested, you can take off your trousers and join me.” As she said it, she turned onto her hands and knees and crawled up toward the head of the bed, giving him a nice view of her—assets.

She heard the sounds of jingling change as she crept and, when she turned onto her back to lie down, he was fumbling with a shoe. As she watched, he did a great hop to keep his balance when he finally worked it off. Though she saw the worry still creasing his brow, she couldn’t stop the smirk that came over her face at his acrobatics.

He glanced over to see that she'd noticed and, at seeing her expression, he pointed an accusing finger at her. “Hey now! No laughing. I’ll _not_ be laughed at,” he said but his tone was only mock-serious. He looked near to chuckling himself as she tried to smooth her features and failed, finally falling into a fit of giggles.

Divested of everything but his pants, he put a tentative knee onto the bed and started to crawl toward her. Her giggles faded away as she noticed that his eyes were very dark but still shone blue, somehow, even though the only light was from a lamp by the sofa. That, and the moonlight streaming in through the large glass windows that she loved so much. They were the reason she’d chosen the flat. She could see the stars at night and the sun in the day, its light waking her each morning.

As he hovered at her side, she looked into his, now near-black, eyes. Bringing her hand to cup his cheek, she felt that odd swell in her chest again. She gasped in a breath but tried to push the feeling aside. What she wanted to feel at that moment wasn’t in her heart, it was in her loins.

He hovered over her a moment longer and then slowly came in to meet her lips. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pulled him down and he landed half on her but the feeling of his warmth against her was delicious. She arched into him as their mouths merged once more and he let out a little moan against her lips. She moved her hands around to stroke over the smooth skin of his back as she maneuvered herself so he was between her thighs. When she brought her legs around him, she rolled her hips up against his very prominent erection, making him gasp sharply. He clutched at her hip, pressing her down to the mattress even as she felt his hips undulating in little aftershocks as he tried to suppress his urge to rut against her.

She wanted more contact but his other hand was running gently through her hair, so she reached up and pulled it down to her breast. He was quite unruffled by this development and eagerly teased her hardened nipple through the silk of her brassiere. Now, she was the one who couldn’t stop the moan from escaping her lips. She couldn’t believe the incredible flare of heat between her legs as he squeezed and caressed the contours of her breast. She immediately wondered what else he could do with other parts of her anatomy. She tipped her hips up again slightly and enjoyed the sound he made in response. Then he was kissing his way down her neck, bringing both hands up to run over her breasts as he moved his mouth down to catch her nipple between his lips through the silken fabric. She gasped and arched up at the incredible pleasure just _that_ brought.

He stopped suddenly and looked up to meet her eyes. “Was—was that alright?” he asked hesitantly, his face looking as if he were already chastised. “I mean—I can—”

She reached down to run her fingers over his bristled cheek, along his coarse sideburn and into the short wavy hair over his ear. Whatever he was going to say, it halted him. “That was lovely,” she told him.

“Yeah?” He seemed skeptical but hopeful. “You, ehm, liked it?”

“Very much,” she assured him. “I’ve enjoyed everything so far.”

“Really?” His eyes were widened in disbelief, it seemed.

She just nodded her agreement. “I think I’d appreciate it even more, if this were out of the way,” she said, and reached back to unhook her brassiere.

In his current position, his chest was pressed to her stomach and she could feel his breath coming faster as she slipped the silk down her arms and then flung it to the floor. He seemed to be off in his own world as he looked at her naked breasts. He made no move toward them, only looked at them seemingly awestruck. She arched up slightly, and brought one hand up to cup the side of her own breast. Then he was back, bringing his lips down to wrap around a nipple as he drew on it. He switched to the other, licking over it wetly and even suckling hard enough to draw the loudest moan from her yet. The fire between her legs was rapidly becoming unmanageable and she needed something to ease the tension but, unfortunately, he seemed quite content as he was.

She urged him up for a kiss. While he was engaged—tongue delighting hers and hands continuing to tease her breasts—she used surprise as an advantage to roll them so she could be on top.

He looked a bit started by the switch but she brought her fingers into his hair and kissed him deeply—thrusting her tongue into his mouth and making him whimper against her lips. She raised up and his hands slipped down from her breasts to her thighs as she moved back until she could feel him pressing up hard between her legs, separated only by the thin fabric of their underwear.

“Oh, sweet lord,” he said, eyes closing as she pressed against him. 

She kept going, moving downward until she could reach the buttons of his pants. She undid them quickly and he whimpered again as he lifted his hips to let her pull them off. Her eyes lingered over him a bit as she moved back up, noting he was bigger than she expected but not unwieldy. Thank goodness for that, she thought. She’d been with a man who’d been too large and it’d been one of her least pleasant experiences.

Avoiding anything too sensitive, she ran her hands up his skin as she moved back over him. Caressing upward over his downy thighs to his hips and belly before she came in to stroke through the little bit of hair that ran from his navel to the denser thatch below. As she finally straddled him, pressing their chests together, she saw his eyes were closed and his lips were drawn in a thin line. She kissed along the edge of his jaw down to the point of his chin and then placed a gentle kiss to his tense lips.

“Is everything alright?” she asked, but he only nodded, opening his eyes, and bringing his hands up to the small of her back to run over her skin there.

Looking into his eyes, she smiled down at him and when he smiled softly back at her, she reached to take hold of his hand and brought it down between them. She raised up a bit to give him room as she urged his hand inside her knickers. His fingers tentatively found what they were searching for as he slipped into her wet folds.

“Oh, _God_ ,” he said, and she felt a sudden surge of wet heat between them.

It certainly wasn’t what she'd been planning on but she was a bit confused to see Fitz covering his face with both hands. She reached up to pull one away and, he very stubbornly, held firm.

“What is it?” she asked, not quite understanding his upset.

He shook his head and she heard him swallow loudly before—without taking his hands away—he finally ground out, “Uh, I’m _so_ sorry.”

She wasn’t sure if he meant because she hadn’t gotten off or because of the bodily fluids. The warm, sticky mess between them was the least of her concerns and she wasn’t done with him by half so she just tried to pull his hands away again. He still wouldn’t budge.

“Fitz!” she said with a scoff. “Can you move your hands so we might have a rational conversation like adults, please?” His hands at least seemed to relax at that, so she continued, “This is not the end of the world. I’ll get a flannel and that’ll be that. You've no _idea_ the sorts of things that end up on me in the lab. This is trivial, really.”

His hands eased away slowly and, though he still looked mortified, there was a slight look of hope, as well. “But—that—it was just—oh, _God_ ,” he said, starting to bring his hands back to his face again but she stopped him—bringing her own hand along his cheek and pressing a kiss to his lips.

“It was _fine_ ,” she said forcefully, stroking his cheekbone with her thumb. “We’ll have another go in a bit.”

His eyes grew much larger and he said, a bit reedy, “We _will_?”

She nodded, unable to keep a grin from her lips. “We _absolutely_ will.”


	4. C'est Magnifique

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut! NSFW!

Fitz still felt like he wished the earth could swallow him up. It went from the best night of his life to the worst in one second—or at least, that was what he thought. He’d expected her to be upset, disgusted even, but instead, she’d just shrugged it off as irrelevant. Then, she’d even kissed him but, more startling than that, she’d told him that he’d have another chance. He felt the pressure, knowing that if he bollixed it up this time, she’d likely send him on his way. He couldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t even imagine finding someone else in the entire world with her combination of brilliance and—he shouldn’t even think about it, lest he get overly excited again—incredible beauty and charm.

She’d already brought him a dampened flannel to clean himself up and then she’d gone back to the loo to get herself taken care of. He reached under the pillow to make sure his little tin was still where he’d hidden it. That done, he pulled down the covers and slipped inside. He was still burning with shame on the inside, even though it was no longer apparent from his face—which had grown as hot and flushed as he’d ever felt it in his life, after. He could hardly believe how understanding she was on top of all the rest. She was like a bloody saint or something. He just couldn’t quite understand why she’d chosen _him_ of all people. He’d hardly said anything brilliant at the club and, generally, that was his best quality. He tried to shake off the idea. What difference did it make anyway? He was here and she was giving him a second chance to prove himself. He had to make it count. Because before he met Jemma, his expectations for a future mate had been very low indeed, but now she’d raised the bar so high he didn’t think there was anyone else in existence who might meet it.

She came back into the room, smiling tenderly and scrunching her nose in that adorable way he was growing familiar with. The anticipation of what was about to happen made his heart beat like a snare drum. He took a quick breath to try and settle his nerves. After the debacle his inexperience had wrought, she’d quickly taken off her soiled knickers and put on a dressing gown, which she now shrugged out of so she could get into bed. As she lifted the covers and slipped in beside him, he saw a flash of dark hair at the apex of her thighs, and it made him blush furiously again. He really needed to get control of his reactions or he’d end up in the same situation he had before.

She pressed into his side and he turned to face her, slipping his hand over her waist so he might prompt her closer. She smiled sweetly and obliged; moving near as she could so he might bring their lips together again. He tried to pour everything he was feeling into his kiss. His longing to find someone he could speak to on his own level and who would care to speak with him, hopefully, even care who he was and find interest in the things he spoke about. His desire for an equal, someone he could respect and love the rest of his life. He was ecstatic she was so beautiful, but the truth was, even if she’d been nothing special—once she'd started talking—it wouldn’t have made any difference to him. He was pretty sure he was already in love with this woman, and he didn’t even know her last name.

He urged her onto her back and, kissing up her shoulder to her neck, he moved his hand over her thigh, hinting at what he intended—or so he hoped. He stroked along the inside of her leg slowly—avoiding the soft, wet place he found far too highly provocative—finding, instead, the delta of dark hair he’d glimpsed earlier. He combed through the wispy, kinked strands as he kissed her, trying to calm his anxiety. She parted her legs and, encouraged, he let his fingers go lower to find the source of his frustratingly quick end. He felt the color rise to his cheeks again as he slipped his fingers into the unfamiliar slickness and tried to go about his exploration logically. He knew anatomy, in theory, and had an understanding of the general construction—if not the practical application of such knowledge. Easing lower, he felt a small knot of tense flesh and she gasped as his fingers moved over it.

“Is that, ehm—good?” he asked, realizing he hardly knew what he was doing at all and a little guidance might be helpful.

“Just go slow, at first,” she said, “circle around it and be very gentle.” He was nodding without realizing it while he did as instructed. “You can go lower, as well,” she said, a bit breathless already.

He moved downward, going slowly until he found her entrance. He circled round, not sure if he should do more but then she took him by the wrist and pressed his fingers into her. Heat rushed into his cock, bringing it to throbbing life again as she used his fingers, plunging them deep inside herself and then moving them in and out in a slow, steady rhythm. The odd tractable feeling inside her was both terrifying and stimulating.

“Just like that. Well—just—more anterior, actually,” she said, letting his wrist go and his worry rushed back to fill him up the instant she did. Though, without really thinking about it, he automatically brought his fingers further forward to the anterior within her.

He tried to quash his worry; he’d accomplished quite a bit for where he’d begun in life and he didn’t see any reason he couldn’t set his sites on achievement now. This was just one small step to reaching his ultimate goal of winning over her affections, permanently. Her benevolence likely only went so far—so another failure at this early stage would likely spell doom for his ambition. He couldn’t let that happen. He was beginning to think his life’s happiness depended on what transpired in this room.

He brought his mouth down to suckle at her breast because before she’d seemed pleased by it. He used his tongue to flick over the taut flesh and circle around before drawing it in sharply, making her gasp. He brought his thumb up to gently circle around the tense spot above her opening as she’d suggested. (He knew the anatomical name but he couldn’t quite bring himself to think of it as that. It seemed lewd somehow.) She let out a long, low moan as he teased with his fingers and tongue. Her head was thrown back with eyes closed and mouth open, it was the most erotic thing he’d ever seen. It made the pulse in his cock quicken and he had to avert his eyes or risk another incident.

“Do you—are you—” she tried to say but he’d just moved his thumb back to her spot and made her gasp. He kept going over it, stroking until she was bucking her hips up to meet him in  short little thrusts as he pressed deeply into her. “Oh, yes. That’s good,” she said while moving in time with his driving fingers—seeking something elusive, he knew not what. She was panting now, and practically writhing. “Are you, er, ready?” she asked, and all the satisfaction he was feeling from what he was doing to her quickly melted away as he worried over what he could do wrong at the next part.

He continued to move his fingers which were beginning to make a very wet sound as they moved in and out, and he found it horribly arousing. “God, yes…” he mumbled, moving his thumb directly over her spot again.

“You’ll need to— _oh—_ wear a sheath,” she said, punctuating it with another moan as she pointed toward her nightstand. “There’s— _oh_ ,” she gasped again, hips thrusting harder against his fingers.

With his free hand, he reached under the pillow and found the little tin he’d brought and, unable to open it one-handed, he carefully withdrew his fingers from her. He got out one of the little pieces of rubber and looked at it. Having never had need of one before, he only wanted to take a second to make sure he was using it properly. Jemma seemed to have other ideas as she took it from his nervous fingers and lifted the covers so she could roll it onto him.

He bit the inside of his cheek as he felt her fingers working on him. He tried to think of her as a he would a physician but his brain was not impressed with that idea and his cock twitched in her hands.

“Keen, are we?” He heard her say teasingly from beneath the bedding, a smirk in her tone.

She flopped the covers off her head and tried to press him back further—he assumed—so she could be on top. However, he decided that wasn’t a good idea this time. Though he’d be _very_ interested to try that down the road—should his luck hold out. For now, he thought it would be better if he had the ability to slow things, should they become overly stimulating. 

She was hovering over him as she crawled up his body but soon came down flat, her breasts molding to his chest as she pressed her full weight to his chest before grazing a delicate kiss to his mouth with her lips so soft it was like she'd stolen the air from his lungs. Slicking her tongue against his lips, meeting his enthusiastically when he opened to slide his out. Waiting until she'd raised her hips a bit to edge down, parting their lips, he used her trick from earlier to roll her backward.

She grinned up at him from where she lay beneath him now and he said, “Is this alright? Do you mind?”

Her expression changed, grew softer, and then she shook her head. “No, it’s fine,” she answered, but it almost sounded as if she were the smallest bit upset.

“Are you certain? I mean, if it’s not—we can—” He started to say, trying to reassure himself that she really was okay but also not sure what else they could do. He felt certain that were she on top again, then he’d last about as long as the previous time—though, realistically, probably less.

She nodded again, more vigorously this time. “I’m _sure_.”

He felt a great surge of anxiety sweep through him and, for a brief delay so he might calm himself, he went down to kiss and tease her breasts again. Though after he began, it seemed not as effective as he might’ve thought because he, honestly, couldn’t imagine how any breasts could possibly be more beautiful than hers—which, ultimately, was really not conducive to calming down.

Even though it was incredibly erotic to him—and, therefore, also possibly, not the wisest course of action—he ran his hands over her. He went across her arms, over her breasts, down her belly, into the creases of her thighs and around her hips to cup her bum. Vaguely, he even wished that he could turn her over and admire her from that angle. He moved his hands around under her back to splay over her shoulder blades, fingers running down between the bed and her body along the channel of her spine, and then under her bum. Finally, he dragged his hands slowly down under her thighs, bringing her legs up around his waist. He was startled by how exciting he found just having her legs wrapped around him. By the time he'd finished, she was rolling her hips up against him and making almost desperate noises. Giving himself one more moment, he turned his rough, whiskered cheek against her breast, running the prickling hairs softly over her sensitive skin and she moaned in a way that brought heat to his face again.

“Please, Fitz, now,” she whispered, her voice grown thin with the tension.

He moved up to find her entrance again and—positioning himself—he looked down at her lovely, freckled face. Her dark eyes were open as she grasped his shoulders and shifted under him, repositioning her legs just how she wanted them. He brought his mouth down on hers, needing to feel his desire consciously reciprocated as she kissed him back, before he pressed in gently.

The feeling was maddening—warm and close and so terrifyingly real—the hot flame in his belly tried to flare higher as he eased into her slowly. But he’d already decided, he _would_ keep himself together, by sheer force of will if nothing else. Even so, he couldn’t stop himself from groaning against her mouth at the fantastic sensation. It was far better than he’d ever imagined, and he’d always thought of his imagination was one of his greater talents.

Once he was all the way in, he stopped, checking himself and curbing his urge to rush. She whimpered a little as he pulled nearly completely out and plunged back into her warm depths and, closing his eyes, he tried feebly not to focus on the intense pleasure that was already making him tremble. Then, he started to really thrust, still slowly, trying to mimic the movements he’d been making with his fingers. It took some effort not to clutch at her as he continued to hold himself back when instinct was driving him onward.

Her breath was quickly growing ragged and her noises were long hums as often as outright moans of pleasure. He’d really never envisioned a woman would be so unrestrained during the act and he found that he was extremely happy that his imagination had failed him on that score as well.

He lowered himself down, pressing his face to her warm neck and kissing her a bit sloppily as he tried to keep his focus off the incredible feeling of being inside her. The angle was a bit different and her movements quickly became more agitated—her fingers combing through his hair, running over his back and even moving down to grab hold of his arse to spur him on.

He began to feel the prickle of his imminent finish and knew he didn’t have much longer. Not caring if he sounded inexperienced now, he whispered in her ear, “What should I do?”

“Touch me,” she whispered back. Taking his wrist again, she moved his hand between them, only letting go once she seemed sure he understood. He slipped his fingers inside her cleft, above where he was rocking into her, to stroke over her spot. It now seemed even more tightly knotted than before. It was awkward and difficult to keep moving when he had to concentrate on the marvelous buzz of pleasure running through his cock as well as what his fingers were doing. It was all worth the effort when, immediately, she was rolling her hips up to meet him—moaning and clutching at him with her nails digging into his shoulders not-quite painfully.

“Faster,” she whimpered, in between urgent moans.

So near he was afraid it would finish him off, he still did as requested, increasing his pace until—with some inarticulate sob—he felt her go stiff beneath him. Her thighs firmly grasped at his waist, her fingers clutched hard at his shoulder and then the tight heat within her gripped him until pleasure, like he’d never felt before, washed through him from head to toe. It filled him and then receded, slowly, leaving his body loose and shivering at the force of his climax. He was vaguely aware of saying her name as he finally collapsed, slack against her.

* * *

Jemma lay there with Fitz’s cheek pressed between her breasts, his rapid breaths still panting out and tickling against her neck, and she tried to slow her own breathing. She moved aside a damp curl that was stuck to his forehead and was forced to admit to herself that, despite the false start, Fitz was quite the best lover she’d had yet. He was far more attentive than most but she still had the impression he wasn’t very well-versed in the sensual arts—not that it had hindered him much at all.

Running a hand over her own moist brow, she sighed contentedly. Then, she realized that this was nearly to the point at which she would send him on his way. Feeling an odd pang at the thought, she ran a hand over his curls as his eyes rolled up to look at her wearily. He managed to shift his weight finally, moving off to the side, but not too far away. As his head settled on the pillow, he gazed at her adoringly and she felt a strange tickle of worry. It was a bit disturbing to her that she didn’t think she wanted him to go just yet. That had never happened before. She always wanted them to leave afterward, tired of their inanity as they gabbled on about their work or their lives. Why would she listen when she had research to be read and considered?

Fitz was different though, wasn’t he? He understood science and perhaps even what she was trying to achieve. Maybe Fitz would also understand that her life was her own, that she had no use for marriage and children, even if she did very much enjoy having him between her legs.

“When do you go back to London?” she asked, slipping down lower in bed so their faces were close together, only a bare few inches apart.

He reached up and absently moved some hair off her face, tucking it back behind her ear. “End of the summer,” he said a bit dazedly. “I’ll go back for next term.”

“Really?” she said, considering—or trying to. She wanted to think about this, but his entrancing blue eyes were staring deeply into hers and making it difficult to keep her train of thought on the right track. “You know, there’s a bin in the loo, by the way.” He looked slightly abashed as he slipped out of bed. She smiled to herself, admiring how the moonlight from the window played over his form, defining the sharp contrasts of light and shadow on the planes and curves of him as he made his way round the bed.

She’d never really considered taking a lover for any sort of long-term arrangement. Though, admittedly, the summer was hardly long-term. There seemed little risk. After all, he was going back to university next term, as was she. What could be more simple?

When he came back out, she saw he’d slipped his pants back on, and she felt the pleasant effervescence that'd bubbled up inside her at the summer’s prospects begin to go flat as she realized he might have other plans that didn’t include her.

He stood at the edge of the bed, his hands smoothing over the covers nervously where he’d gotten out. “I—ehm, well…” he started, glancing down toward his hands as if unable to meet her eyes. She felt a sudden prickling of fear, certain he was about to say he had to go. “I was wonderin’—well, if I might take you out tomorrow?” he said finally, looking up to gauge her reaction. She opened her mouth to respond but he didn’t wait, just started to go on again. “Dancin’ or a film—or what about that lecture!” He darted another quick look, but even as she opened her mouth once more, he continued his ramble, “My flatmate told me about a lecture at the Institut Pasteur and well—I just thought we could spend a bit more time…” he trailed off suddenly, sighing and tugging at the bedding.

She breathed a small sigh of relief and smiled. “That would be lovely, Fitz” she said, knowing that she absolutely meant it. She cleared her throat delicately and asked something she never had before, “Would you care to stay here for the night?”

The answering grin on Fitz’s face made her heart swell keenly, and she couldn’t prevent a delighted chuckle from leaving her lips when he bounced enthusiastically back into bed with her.


	5. You Do Something To Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully, I topped that last chapter. *smirks at stupid pun*

Fitz woke to the sound of water. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and realized that it was dark. His recent activities flooded into his consciousness and he smiled to himself. He was taking Jemma (whose last name he still didn’t know) out for—something or other. He’d suggested several things and had no idea which she’d agreed to, but what the hell did it matter? She’d said _yes_! He turned over and realized that she must’ve pulled the fabric of the canopy shut, apparently it was like curtains. He pushed it aside and saw that it was bright daylight outside the huge windows. He got up and started to go around the bed, realizing the running water he was hearing was likely the bath going. Problem was, he really needed a piss.

Seeing the door was wide open, he crept cautiously to the threshold and peered inside—only to find that she’d already got into the large clawfoot tub. Everything in the room was starkly white, from the tile to the walls and on down to the few towels that hung on a rack. The light streaming in from the high windows made the room glow brilliantly. He noticed she was reading a book as the tub filled the rest of the way up and, now that he could see her properly in all that brightness, he realized that the only thing in the room that truly glowed, was her.

She was even more beautiful than last night it seemed and he tried to memorize everything about her. From the sizable scattering of freckles on her chest and the dusky rose shade of her nipples, to the way her hair fell across her cheek as she looked down at her book. He was just trying to capture the exact tone of her skin and the length of her neck, when she glanced up and caught him staring.

“You’re awake,” she said, rather redundantly, it seemed to him.

He rubbed his hand over the back of his neck and stepped into the room. He’d been standing in the shadow cast by the curtained bed and stepping into the light in nothing but his pants made him suddenly self-conscious.

“Ehm, yeah,” he said inanely, feeling like a prat and a bit of a sneak. However, he could hardly think with his other needs urgently taking over his senses. “I’ve, eh—well, I need the, ehm…” He pointed vaguely toward the toilet.

She blinked her eyes once, unfazed, and with a sweep of her hand in the general direction, said, “Be my guest.”

His face flushed hot and red at the idea of having a wee in front of a lady. “But, ehm—you—I mean, are you…” For heaven’s sake! Why on Earth was it so difficult to speak to her? It was just that her eyes were so earnest and beautiful, he thought. She was only the woman of his dreams after all and if he cocked it up, he’d die miserable and alone. Not as if it were important or anything.

A slow smile was creeping over her face along with a look of supreme amusement. “Should I close my eyes?” she asked, smile becoming a playful smirk.

He thought about it and realized that it still didn’t seem right. “But…” he began, practically squirming under her gaze, “you could still…” he clasped both hands behind his neck and looked away, grimacing as he finished, “ _hear_ it.”

She started giggling then and as much as he would’ve liked to join her in having a laugh at his own persnickety temperament, he was really afraid of what that might do to his bladder.

“Should I block my ears as well?” she asked, still bemused. “You made some _fascinating_ noises last night.” He cringed inwardly. “You do realize, of course, that thing of yours was just inside—“

Interrupting her—knowing exactly where she was headed—he gawked at her and started to splutter, “Shh, shh, shhhh! Yes, yes! Christ, jus'—jus' don’t bloody watch!”

He stood with his back to her and, glancing over his shoulder, saw she’d brought her book up to cover her face, at least. Quickly, he relieved himself into the bowl, wincing at the noise it made and squeezing his eyes closed against the embarrassment.

Sighing with relief once he’d finished and pulled the cord, he'd started to wash his hands when she made a bit of a splashing noise in the bath and said, “Care to join me?”

He glanced over and seeing her wet, naked body, instantly said, “Yes.” Then, he remembered why that would likely be a horrible idea. Running his tongue over his furry teeth, he revised, “But, I’ve not got a toothbrush.”

“Oh, mine’s there,” she said, pointing to hers standing in a glass on the sink top.

“But—” he began, stopping himself when he realized it probably sounded completely daft again after all they’d done last night.

“Bit squeamish, are you?” she asked, anticipating his objection. “You’ve already had your tongue in my mouth—quite a number of times—I don’t think sharing a toothbrush is going to do anything more.”

“Yes, yes, make fun of the fastidious Scot,” he said, slightly more cross than he meant to in his chagrin and even shooting a slight bit of a glower in her direction.

He instantly regretted it but she appeared unmoved by his outburst and, putting her book aside on a stool, she slipped down lower into the water. He stared fascinated as her breasts remained buoyantly on the surface.

“I suppose I don’t _actually_ need help washing,” she said, looking away sadly.

He knew what she was doing and he absolutely didn’t care. He snatched up the toothbrush and cleaned his teeth in record time. He unashamedly shed his pants and slipped into the water across from her, half-hard already.

“Damn,” he said as soon as he’d sunk in the water up to his chest. “I’ve—we need—the, ehm—” he pointed back toward the bedroom. Realizing he might be assuming too much, he added, “I mean, if we—were you, ehm, suggestin’—” His face already warming at his presumptuousness, he nevertheless started to chuckle at himself. He really needed to get a handle on his bashfulness not to mention getting his vocabulary expanded if he was going to be speaking about these sorts of things on anything like a regular basis. And—sweet Jesus—did he want to be speaking about them _very_ regularly.

He glanced up to see she was smiling with a vague look of amusement on her face. She appeared to grow a bit more sober and then, almost nervously, said, “I’ve, eh, got a dutch cap. Which is not unlike—“

He held up a hand, having heard of it before. Though he’d thought he was going to die of embarrassment, Rosalie had talked about how she wanted to go to the doctor for one when they got married. She explained how her sister had got one and it kept you from getting _knocked up_ , as she’d put it. So, though he wasn’t exactly sure of the overall construction, he still had a general idea how it worked.

“I’ve, eh—I know what it is,” he said, wondering idly if she would want to know exactly _how_ he knew. “So—then—we don’t need, er—” he glanced up to see the amused quirk of her lips had returned and finished, “the other thing, yeah?”

She shook her head. “Not unless you prefer that,” she said, sliding closer to him through the water. She brought her feet to either side of his hips, wiggling her toes under his arse and making him jump.

“No,” he answered, feeling out of his depth on such a subject as he tried to still her exploring feet. “I mean, whatever you prefer is fine with me.”

“Good,” she said, going up on her knees and slipping her arms around his neck so she could pull herself forward to straddle him. She pressed a heated, messy kiss to his lips and he brought his arms around her, hugging her tightly to him. It had only just begun but he already found himself wishing this day might never end.

* * *

Kissing Fitz was her new favorite thing at the moment, Jemma decided. The way his lips moved over hers—passionately, devotedly, even playfully—so full of things she’d hardly felt a glimmer of in all the other kisses she’d had. She loved how he used his tongue to arouse and tantalize, finding it irksome and exciting at the same time. He was impishly taunting her, teasing his tongue just past her lips to toy and set her tingling, but going no farther. The more he did it, the more she wanted him to fill her mouth with it. She shivered at the thought of what else he could fill her mouth with. Still, she decided to play along in his bedeviling game.

She pressed her hips lower and he gasped as she made contact with his erection, fitting him into her slit and writhing over him. Smiling against his lips, she pulled away from his mouth, only to bite down gently on his lower jaw and then scrape her teeth through his stubble. The wiry little hairs felt strange on her tongue but she found that she liked the sensation. His hands came around her lower back to move her where he wanted but she wouldn’t let him shift her. Instead, she bucked her hips forward along him and then back again, dragging her clitoris slowly down his length. He groaned loudly, dropping his head back against the edge of the tub, and she grinned. She tasted salt and his mannish flavor as she licked over his exposed throat, feeling all the little whiskers against her tongue as she went downward until she arrived at the tender spot where neck and shoulder met. She nibbled on the smooth flesh there, pushing her hips forward again to slide over him even more firmly, and was rewarded with his breathless whimper. She reached between them to take hold of him, dragging the head of his cock across her sensitive skin and downward to push provocatively against her entrance until he loudly groaned out, “Oh, _fuck_.”

His head snapped up, face flushing, and he covered his mouth with a hand. He was shaking his head back in forth slowly in some sort of wordless denial but she only smirked, considering herself the winner of this round. She pulled his hand away so she could take his index finger and draw it into her mouth. She couldn't help appreciating his hands, long-fingered and neat, she'd already found he was quite clever with them. He stared at her wide-eyed while her cheeks hollowed as she sucked, rolling her tongue against his finger before sliding it out again. 

His jaw slack, he continued to gape as she brought his hand down to place it on her breast. Luckily, he seemed to refocus quickly and she raised up a bit so he could wrap his lips around her other nipple. And with one breast pinched and caressed in his hand and the other enthusiastically tongued and suckled in his mouth, he seemed indefinitely content, but Jemma had plans. She brought his other hand down between her legs to play and he groaned against her breast, agreeably adding this task to his list of duties. He stroked over her until she was moving her hips in time with his touch and she moaned when he finally pushed his fingers inside her. She clung to the edges of the tub so she could lean away and give him better access. No longer able to reach as she angled backward, he released her nipple with a little pop of suction that sent tingles down to the blazing heat between her legs where he was dexterously bringing her to readiness. His hand slipped down from her breast to the small of her back, gripping her hip and supporting her as she lay back.

His mouth went to work again, placing large, open-mouthed kisses to her wet skin where he could, even dipping his tongue down into her belly button. He leaned forward, pulling her toward him so he could skim his lips higher. He laid a random path of heated kisses upward—between her breasts, across her collarbone and along her neck.

“You’re so bloody gorgeous, Jemma,” he murmured roughly against her moist skin, dipping his tongue into the hollow of her throat. Though she'd heard the words he'd spoken many times in similar context, rarely had she heard them said with such feeling or true ardency. She found herself flattered and even charmed by his artlessness. 

His fingers were still busily employed within and she clenched reflexively around them at his stirring words, eyes closing as she moaned at the exquisite feel of it. The tickling whisper of her climax was already coming into being but her arms were beginning to tremble from the strain of holding herself up.

“Are you ready?” she asked, knowing he was, but feeling that it was only polite to ask.

“Here?” he questioned a bit shrilly, pulling her back against him and settling down onto the floor of the tub again.

She eased herself over him and asked, “Why not?”

He looked like he might be attempting to come up with an answer but, when his face remained endearingly bewildered, she kissed him hotly. Vigorously working her tongue past his lips and inflaming herself as much as she did him, she felt his fingers tighten and slip against her wet skin as he squeezed her arse rather boldly. Already panting a bit, she hurried a little line of kisses across his stubbled cheek to whisper in his ear, “I want you in me _now_.”

He gasped, ears going pink, and she heard his gulping swallow before he said, “Yeah, okay.”

He tried to help but, in their current position, it didn’t take much maneuvering for her to sink down onto him. She was pleased to find the feeling of him filling her up was just as delicious as she remembered from last night. Though this time, it was slightly different—smoother and a bit warmer than she recalled. She’d never experienced the act without a sheath before and realized that it seemed somehow more salacious than it ever had previously. Feeling more wanton herself, she threw her head back, pushing her chest forward and came down a bit harder the second time in a fit of lustful exuberance.

“Oh, _God_!” he gasped out, and it sounded extremely similar to the false start from the previous night. She stopped moving, waiting to see if this experiment had already run its course due to her lack of foresight. But, with his eyes a bit wide and fierce, he moved his hands from her lower back to her bum and tried to gently nudge her forward so he could fill her again. “Oh, please, Jemma. Please, don’t stop,” he begged raggedly when she didn't move, and he kissed her neck desperately as if it were a bribe that might induce her back to action. She felt him trembling in anticipation under her hands and, realizing it wasn't as bad as all that, she resumed her rhythm.

She tried to pace herself now as she eased up and down. Keeping her movements measured, she focused on admiring his sweet yet masculine face and running her fingers through his thick curls. All this, she did while trying not to see the worshipful look in his bright blue eyes. She pushed her lower back forward, angling her hips just so, when she slid down onto his cock this time as she tried to make contact with all the places she needed. Moaning at the sensation, she already felt the tingle of her imminent orgasm beginning to rise up again.

Puffing and gasping urgently, Fitz was perspiring even with the gradually cooling water swirling around them. And, despite his unrestrained appearance, he still brought his fingers down to stroke over her as she moved—even though it seemed an awkward angle for him. It helped, however, so she let him keep on with it while he could. But she was quickly losing herself in the experience, letting her impulses take over. She couldn’t even bring herself to care about the water sloshing from the tub as she got closer and closer. There was a sensation of the momentum building within her, growing like too much water behind a dam that would soon burst with the weight of it. She began to speed up and he clung to her hips with both arms locked around her now, eventually thrusting upward to meet her rapid pace, filling her deeply as she dropped back onto him each time.

She felt the skin prickle on her whole body a moment before the fire lanced out from between her legs to fill her. She just had the presence of mind to grab hold of the tub before she was racked with the feeling, her body going rigid and toes clenching. It was as if she were ripped apart and fused back together with aching pleasure. She moaned out something inarticulate with her head falling back as her muscles throbbed and tightened on the hard length of him inside her. He held her firmly by the waist, still rocking up into her as he finally groaned. And just as she started to relax again, she felt him pulsing inside her. She’d never felt her partner’s release before and she found it incredibly, startlingly erotic. Even though it seemed lascivious bordering on obscene that she should like knowing he’d left something inside her—as if he’d marked her in some way—it instantly ignited an agonizing need in her. Unthinking, she reached down to touch herself. Her hips were still rolling, vibrating with the aftershocks of her climax but as she stroked, without warning, she tensed again with another hard spasm. It pulled a sharp cry from her as she thrummed with pleasure bordering on pain. It left her breathless and trembling as she finally fell forward onto his shoulders.

He caught her even though he was quite winded and seemed really a bit muddled in the aftermath. She felt him slip from within her and was stunned at the sudden feeling of loss that came over her. She eased back toward her own side of the tub and thought how silly that was. Why would she even care? He’d done his work and she had no need of his bits until the next time she had a yen.

She took in a deep breath, still overwhelmed with the intensity of the pleasure she’d just experienced. She reached down to touch herself and felt the bit of thick fluid he'd left behind and found herself still strangely aroused by it. However, it was somehow also slightly disturbing to her. She didn't understand why a simple bodily function should be so stimulating. Perhaps it was the novelty, she decided. This had been, by far, her greatest experience yet. She'd noted his attempt to duplicate her enjoyment from the previous night. It stood to reason that repetition with one partner could vastly improve future outcomes. This line of thought immediately confirmed her assessment that perhaps a slightly longer-term arrangement than usual really wasn’t the worst idea. However, she wondered if some ground rules might not be in order. She tried to think what they might be but really there was just the one that came to mind. She could always revise as issues arose.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he mumbled, having finally caught his breath. He seemed oblivious to his language, his usual prim behavior forgotten. Appearing relaxed, bordering on dazed, he sunk up to his neck in the water as it finally calmed following their exertions.

“I’m going back to university next term,” Jemma said, her eyebrows drawing together—not even sure herself how he was meant to understand what she was trying to convey from _that_.

His eyes were a bit unfocused as he nodded. “Ehm, yeah, you said.”

She shook her head. “I’m going to be a scientist—like Madame Curie,” she offered, searching his face for comprehension. “I’m going to do something that matters. Something important with my life.”

“Yeah,” he said, nodding fiercely in agreement. “Good. Me, as well.”

She sighed with relief at his understanding. She was right, he was just like her. This would be perfect.

Filled with a sudden new energy, she smiled happily and asked, “Breakfast?”

“Fan _tastic_ ,” he agreed.

* * *

Still exhausted and a bit fuzzy-headed, Fitz was laying in Jemma’s bed again and riding a wave of happiness like he’d never known. He continued to be a bit stunned by the, frankly, unimaginably incredible lovemaking he’d just experienced with the woman of his dreams—who then proceeded to make him a full English with real tea like he hadn’t had since he’d left England to come to France. Which, honestly, made no sense, they were a stone’s throw away. It’s like they just weren’t even trying. Bloody French.

She’d given him a rather significant look as she reiterated that she planned to go back to uni in the autumn. He felt sure she was trying to tell him something important or perhaps gauge what his own life goals were. He wanted her to know everything there was about him—he only hoped that’s what she was asking. Fitz wanted to believe that she felt something of the same way he did but he really had no way of knowing without asking directly and somehow he just knew that wasn’t the best course. It took finesse to woo a woman, he felt sure, not blurting out your feelings and hoping she reciprocated.

Looking around her flat, he worried a bit that her family was likely well-off. His mum had raised him hand-to-mouth and it was just luck (and a lot of hard work) he’d gotten a decent scholarship. He could only imagine how Jemma’s well-to-do parents would react to her interest in a poor Scottish bloke. They likely had their minds set on someone in the same class but Fitz knew, without question, that he was the one for her. It was obvious because there wasn’t likely to be anyone on her social level that was as brilliant as they were or could talk science with her as he could. It was meant to be, it just had to be. If they didn’t approve, well, then he and Jemma could elope. What other choice would they have?

She’d said she wanted to be like Madame Curie and that gave him quite a lot of hope. The Curie’s had worked right alongside one another and made amazing discoveries—they’d even won the Nobel Prize together. Fitz tried to imagine a life like that with Jemma. Married, with their own lab, making discoveries and eventually they would have a couple of children. A boy who loved engineering and a girl who looked just like Jemma and loved chemistry. He tried not to think about if they both loved biology and harangued him with disgusting samples and creatures, endlessly. Even so, he couldn’t imagine a more perfect life.

She came out of the other room, dressed for the day and smiling her wide, lovely smile at him. “Are you going to stay in bed _all_ day?” she asked with a chuckle. “I thought you were taking me to that lecture.”

“Oh, yeah? You’re up for that, then?” he asked, thinking about how he could work the whole thing into something more romantic. Perhaps a late lunch, or even dinner and dancing later on? He really wasn’t much of a dancer but if it meant securing Jemma’s approval, he was certainly willing to improve himself.

“Yes,” she agreed, searching out something in her wardrobe.

“I should probably stop by and tell my flatmate I’m alive. Have a shave,” he suggested, rasping through his significant stubble with his fingernails.

“We could stop on the way,” she suggested cheerfully.

“Jemma?” He tried to keep the nerves from his voice but he could already tell he was failing miserably.

“Yes?” she replied, looking back at him with her brows drawn together, clearly sensing his anxiety.

“Ehm—” He was a bit mortified that he had to ask, considering all. “Well—what, ehm—” He sat up on the bed, leaning forward and trying to steel himself against his embarrassment. “What’s your last name?”

She began to laugh heartily. “Oh, Fitz,” she said finally. “That’s absolutely not where I thought you were headed.”

“Where—“

“Simmons,” she answered, interrupting his question. “It’s Jemma Simmons.”

“Fitz and Simmons,” he said absently, fingers combing through the hair over his ear.

“Jemma and Leopold,” she said with a snort of laughter.

“Leo!” he insisted, wondering what he’d been thinking when he gave out _that_ bit of trivia. “Only my mum calls me that, anyway.”

She smirked. “My mum and dad used to call me Jem,” she said softly.

“Used to?” he questioned.

“When I was little,” she said brightly.

“Oh. Course,” he muttered, trying to think of more questions he might ask her. He wanted to know everything about her—her dreams, her childhood, friends, everything.

“Are they in London, your mum and dad?” 

“Sometimes,” she said obscurely.

“What’s your dad do, then?” he asked, sensing her hesitation but desperate for her to want to open up to him.

“He’s retired,” she said, going back to searching through her clothes.

“Only Simmons I know of is Henry Simmons,” he said carelessly just because it was true as he started to push himself up from the bed.

“So, you’ve heard of him, then,” she said, pulling a hat triumphantly from a box inside her wardrobe.

He heard the words, but there was an odd ringing in his ears now as he asked, “Your dad is—Henry Simmons— _Lord_ Henry Simmons? _MP_ Henry Simmons?”

“Well, not anymore. I told you, he’s retired. Can’t stay in Parliament forever, can he?” she said blithely, settling the hat on her head. She looked back at him, instantly seeming a bit irked that he wasn’t moving. “Getting up, then?”

Still stunned, he opened his mouth to respond, but then there was a sudden, excessively loud banging on the front door.

His worry that marrying the daughter of a lord was vastly out of the realm of possibility for someone like him was instantly superseded by his alarm at having his recent illicit activities discovered. Visions of some terrible consequence or even punishment for his wicked acts flew through his mind. His heart squeezed in panic at the thought that it could be her _father_. He’d more than likely spend the rest of his days in a cell rather than living the perfect life of his fantasies he’d dared to envision. Clearly he'd temped fate or the cosmos and brought catastrophe on himself, instead.

He leapt up from the bed. “Christ! Who’s that, then?” he blurted in terror.

Jemma just rolled her eyes and, picking up his clothing, (which she’d evidently tidied into a neat stack) handed them off as she said, “Quickly, go into the loo and get dressed.”

In his dread, he convulsed humiliatingly when the door was noisily pounded upon again. Then, he heard a woman’s voice, disguised to sound lower, call out, “Open up in there, it’s the cops!”

His fluttering heart settled a bit when he realized it must be one of her friends. “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he sighed in relief, clutching at his still thumping chest.

Jemma shot him a look of supreme irritation and, feeling a fool, he scuttled off to the toilet tout de suite.

 

A 1920s angsty Fitz for you.


	6. Ça, C'est L'amour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So crack, but no smut this time. It's all plotty/moving-the-story stuff. Don't worry, lots more smut soon.
> 
> Also, I gave "Daisy" all the fun '20s slang. I thought it went with her character. She's the more "hip"—for lack of a better word—one of the group on the show, so I figured being a young American flapper she'd know what all the cool kids were saying back in the day.

Jemma opened the door for Daisy who brushed past her, waving casually over her shoulder as she said, “Hello! This is Antoine.”

A tall, very attractive fellow (who Jemma recognized from the band at the club Daisy preferred) stepped toward the threshold and held out his hand to her. “Antoine Triplett. Just call me Trip, though,” he said with a distinctly American accent. He shook his head indulgently as he looked after Daisy and added, “I think she likes to pretend I’m French.”

Jemma clasped his extended hand and urged him into her flat, saying, “Please, come in. Make yourself at home.”

She turned to face Daisy, who was already making herself very much at home on the sofa, and she placed her hands on her hips, asking, “Must you do that?”

“What?” Daisy questioned with an indignant look, repositioning a pillow behind her back as Trip sat down beside her.

“Bellow loud enough to bring down the ruddy building,” she said, scoffing in annoyance.

“Got one hidin’ in the john, don’t ya?” Daisy asked, sniggering behind her hand.

“Daisy, you frightened him,” she said. “Fortunately, he’s intelligent enough to realize that la Sûreté don’t go around shouting, ‘Open up, it’s the cops’,” she said, managing an exaggerated American drawl as she imitated her friend.

Sensing her friend's irritation, Daisy held her hands up in mock-surrender and said, “Hey, I just assumed you’d either be alone or tryin’ to give your latest sacrificial lamb the bum’s rush.”

“Your idioms are seriously at odds and—well—” she began, her frustration quickly draining away as she found that she wanted to speak to Daisy about her new notion so she might hear her friend's reaction. She was mildly hesitant to speak openly in front of Daisy's newest amour but the way she went through men, there would likely be a new one on her arm by tomorrow. Jemma mentally shrugged and said, “I’m considering a bit of a longer arrangement.”

“Some fella finally turned your head, eh?” Daisy asked, her grin wide enough to show a great multitude of her startlingly white teeth.

Jemma scoffed indignantly. “Of _course_ not. It’s just—I mean, he’s only here in Paris for the summer. He’s a scientist as well and he’s _absolutely_ going back to London for the autumn term. It’s really not very long in the end. Just the summer. It’s nothing. Really.” She heard how defensive she sounded, and how it all seemed vaguely like an argument. She also suddenly understood that no one was actually opposing her. And so, she closed her mouth.

Her friend was just smiling mercurially back at her when the loo door opened and Fitz stepped out. Daisy looked from Fitz to Jemma and back again, then nodded appraisingly.

“Oh, ehm, hello there,” Fitz said nervously, stepping though the narrow passage by her wardrobe that led into the sitting room.

Daisy leapt up, and when Fitz held out his hand to shake, she ignored it and moved alongside him. She took hold of his outstretched arm to pull him over to the sofa where she sat him between herself and Trip.

“So…” Daisy said, letting the word hang in the air.

When Fitz didn’t respond to the prompt, just sat looking between the two, Daisy waved a hand at Jemma for help.

“Fitz,” she offered, before subtly covering her mouth so she wouldn’t laugh.

“So, _Fitz_ ,” Daisy started again, affecting her version of a tone of authority. “What’re your intentions with our Jemma? As her best friend, I think it’s up to me to make sure you’re on the the up and up.”

Fitz’s eyes grew round with worry as he looked from one to the other of his captors and then back to Jemma, desperate for help.

“Daisy—” Jemma started, frowning and feeling awful for Fitz but knowing that her friend wouldn’t likely stop until she’d had her fun.

“I mean, hanky-panky is all well and good, but I hope you’ve got the scratch to keep her in diamonds and pearls and the swanky style to which she’s accustomed,” Daisy said, her smirk beginning to peek through her serious façade. Fitz’s face had already gone at least three shades of red at her insinuation and, at seeing her work complete, she slapped his shoulder hard enough to make him flinch, adding, “I’m just razzin’ ya, Fitzy-boy. I’m Daisy, by the way, but I _am_ her best friend. So, you know, you'd better treat her nice or I’ll have Antoine here knock some sense inta ya.” Fitz’s expression, which had begun to soften, grew worried again as he looked up at the bigger man, who only smiled benevolently and shook his head.

“Daisy,” Jemma repeated, giving Fitz an apologetic look, “you’re going to frighten him to death if you keep on like that.”

“I just want him to know what’s what,” she sniffed. Rising to her feet, Daisy gave her a significant look tinged with some urgency and, taking hold of her wrist, said, “I’ve got terrible news!”

“What is it?” Jemma asked, steeling herself for something awful.

“My parents are coming! Tomorrow, if you can believe that? They sent a telegram from London. No warning at all. It’s just rude, when you think about it,” she said her brows drawing down in a frown.

“Terribly,” Jemma said placatingly.

“You know how much they love you, Jem! Come over for lunch tomorrow? _Please?_ ” she begged. “And you can even bring Fitz!”

She found herself unable to refuse as Daisy clutched at her shoulders and squirmed in place. “Alright, I’ll come.”

“Oh, thank you, thank you,” she said, kissing Jemma’s cheek exuberantly. “You are the best-est friend ever! Absolutely the cat’s _whiskers_!”

“Indeed,” Jemma agreed with a pacific smile.

Daisy turned back to Fitz and said, “You comin’? It’s gonna be a swell party now that Jemma’ll be there. My folks just love her.”

“Ehm, well, maybe. I mean, it sounds—” he began uncertainly, finally looking at Jemma beseechingly.

She recognized his hesitation and overly-polite tone as his uncertainty about what she had in mind, and ending his misery, said, “You should come if you’d like. Daisy’s father is quite a fascinating man.”

His face grew a bit brighter and he said, “Ehm, yeah, okay. Sure. I mean, I’d be happy to. Thank you for invitin’ me.”

“We’re headed out for a lecture,” Jemma said to Daisy, “if you’d care to join us?”

She scoffed loudly in response. “ _Right_. Actually, Antoine has rehearsal, so I’m going with him to the club,” she said, already waving impatiently at Trip and heading for the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow though. Noon, okay?”

“Alright,” Jemma agreed.

“Toodles,” Daisy said, waving as she opened the door. Turning back just as Trip was pulling it shut behind them, she called back, “Nice to meet you, Fitz! See ya tomorrow!”

He raised a hand in a half-hearted wave from his seat on the sofa just as the door clicked shut.

Jemma turned to face him, her expression apologetic. “That was Daisy. American,” she confirmed with a slight shrug of her shoulders.

“I gathered. On both counts,” he said drily, and seemed to relax for the first time since her friend had knocked on the door. “Known her for a bit, then?”

“Since last year. She was my flatmate until a month ago,” she said indifferently, already making plans for what else they might do later on since it seemed he was arranging to be there.

She was just opening her mouth to suggest they get going when he grew a look of puzzlement and said, “And that fellow, Antoine, he’s her…” he hesitated, clearly not sure what to term the other man.

“Boyfriend?” Jemma offered helpfully. “Though, if I’m not mistaken, I believe, he’s called Trip.”

“You’ve just met him?” he asked hesitantly, and she nodded. “So, it’s a bit of a new romance, then, I suppose?” he pressed.

Jemma began to chuckle at the idea of Daisy having a ‘romance’ with anyone. “Not to put too fine a point on it, but that’s probably a _bit_ generous,” she answered honestly.

“Oh.” His eyes shifted to the floor and silence hung a bit thickly between them for a moment.

“Anyway,” she said, trying to clear some of the awkwardness from the room. “Shall we head off then? Stop at your flat first?”

“Right. Yeah,” he said, getting up quickly.

* * *

Riding in the cab to his flat, he slipped his arm around Jemma’s shoulders and was pleased when she beamed up at him. It filled him with hope that he was still on the right track. He hadn’t bollixed it up yet. He was still desperate to do anything he could to gain her favor. In his mind, he tried to plan some things for the day that might please her. However, he had no idea what she even liked, other than science and, evidently, vigorous sex. He was stuck with the reminder that he really didn’t know her well at all and the concept rocked him to his core. How could he be in love with someone he hardly knew? Yet, the knowledge remained: he was in love. The way he felt for Rosalie wasn’t even a shadow of a pale reflection of what he felt for Jemma and he’d planned on _marrying_ her once he graduated. The thought was mind boggling now. How had he been so deceived? So foolish? Yet, the reason for his hesitation was much more apparent to him now. He pressed his rough, whiskered cheek to Jemma’s hair and though how he’d give up his scholarship if she asked him to. Stay with her in Paris. Despite the heavy inducements, he’d never considered doing similarly for Rosalie.

Fitz didn’t know what to make of Jemma’s friend. Or her open admission that Daisy was easily in and out of affairs. He wasn’t sure if it meant something or if it was just part of the forthright way that she spoke which he was so unused to in a woman. He actually appreciated it, in truth. He disliked trying to guess what people were hinting at. All the more reason he was irritated by his inability to know if he should read more into her words. He wasn’t an idiot. He understood this wasn’t a one-off thing for her. She was clearly the more experienced between the two of them and he honestly didn’t care. What he cared about was making sure that, heedless of the men who’d come before, he would be the one that _kept_ her interest. He didn’t know what qualities she was looking for exactly but he wanted to be all those things.

The fact that Daisy had brought up money straightaway also hadn’t escaped his notice. He had none to speak of, naturally, and—now discovering she was the daughter of Lord Henry Simmons—he worried Jemma might think he was some sort of gold-digger.

His childhood had given him an understanding of the value of money that he knew the very rich, generally, didn’t have—unless they thought someone was trying to take it from them. His friend Hunter spent his father’s money extravagantly, letting it slip through his hands like water. Though Fitz really found Hunter to be a caring friend and generous in the extreme, he knew he had no appreciation for what he gave so freely. Fitz had a lot of respect for self-made men like Hunter’s father. He knew that it was not actually easy to acquire that which all others so desperately wanted. He hoped to be at least comfortable at some stage but, though he understood the value, he also knew that money was not the key to a happy life. Despite the lack of resources, he’d always considered himself to’ve had quite a happy childhood. He knew realistically that—rich or poor—happiness depended on choosing the right people to spend your life with and not how much money you could spend on them.

He had no idea how Jemma felt about money but he was terrified it would become an issue between them. As far as he was concerned, he would ecstatically start a life with her without a penny—though he somehow doubted she would find that terribly appealing. He was torn between wondering if he should try to convey his disinterest or trying to demonstrate that he had enough taste and discernment to move through the world of the moneyed as well as she did. After all, he’d been doing it since he was eleven.

He’d won an academic scholarship to attend private school when he was nine actually, but his mum had decided he’d do best to have something of a childhood first. Though, he always believed, in his heart, that she couldn’t bear to part with him because he was all she had left of his dad, who’d died in the war. It took him two years to convince her to let him go.

He’d been sent up quickly and was working with much older boys by the time he was twelve. His scholarship to Cambridge had been the doing of one of his teachers. He’d started at fifteen and there’d been so much to learn that he’d gone a bit wild. He’s switched from one scientific discipline to another until he’d finally settled on engineering. Although, he’d waffled back and forth between mechanical, electrical and aeronautical for some time yet. He’d finally been forced to set a graduation date or risk losing his place. Five years into uni, he still didn’t have a PhD but he might as well have. He knew more than most of the PhDs they had teaching.

Through all those years of his schooling, he’d been forced to learn how to hide, how to appear to belong among all the wealthy boys who could never understand what it was like not to know if there would be anything for tea or just a growling belly as you tried to go to sleep. He worked hard at it and some of them never figured out he was on scholarship. Then others, like Hunter, didn’t care. But Fitz knew that they only didn’t care because he acted as they did and gave them no reason to feel guilty for their privilege. He’d learned early on that being ‘the Scot with the chip on his shoulder’ would never see him to his goal of becoming invisible. That was all he'd ever wanted, really—to be left alone so he might learn all he liked and do his work in peace. He hadn’t known his particular skill with rich prats would potentially come in handy later in life.

Though he wanted to laugh at the idea that keeping his head down might somehow get him past Jemma’s parents. He tried not to think about that particular obstacle and instead focus on the more immediate hurdle of making sure he endeared himself to Jemma until she believed he was as vital to her happiness as he already believed she was to his.

The car bumped to a halt and the driver said, “Un franc s'il vous plaît.”

Fitz dug in his pocket for one of his precious coins and handed it over. Silently thanking the universe that France's exchange rate was so far in his favor.

“Merci,” Jemma said brightly in a bit of a sing-song as she got out.

As he opened the heavy glass door of his building and held it for her, Fitz realized he should likely be rather worried about bringing Jemma into his and Hunter’s shared flat. Feeling a bit strange about it, but still thinking it better than the alternative, he said, “I think I’d best go up and assess the state of the place first.”

She chuckled. “Very well, I’ll just be here, then,” she said agreeably, pulling a book from her oversized handbag and dropping into a comfortable-looking chair by the window.

“I’ll, ehm, be back for you in two ticks,” he said, trying to sound confident and knowing he’d failed.

“Fitz,” she called, looking up from her book. “Perhaps you should pack a small bag?”

“Yeah?” he asked. Any attempt he might’ve made at keeping the excitement from his tone was seared from his memory by the smile she sent his way. He thought it could’ve heated the all world’s oceans by at least one degree but, as he was just a man, he found himself consumed by the powerful warmth of that smile. He didn’t see how it could mean anything other than what he already believed: they were meant to be and she was feeling it, too. He might’ve kissed her but it was certainly not a very appropriate time, so instead, he just said, “Okay, just a tick.” He wanted to say more but he held himself back. The day after they met, in the foyer of his temporary lodgings was not the time or place for declarations of love! Don't be a berk!

The elevator was occupied and, with the flat being only on the second floor, he flew up the stairs two at a time. Still breathing heavily, he entered the flat with caution as he’d quickly learned to do over the course of the last two weeks. He still occasionally got an eyeful of half-dressed ladies rushing between Hunter’s room and the toilet.

It was dark and quiet in the flat but he knew that was evidence of nothing as he crept carefully to Hunter’s door. His worry escalated when he found a scattering of ladies things on the floor by his friend’s firmly-shut door. When Hunter was alone, he wasn’t modest in the least and slept with the door wide open. He could almost believe Hunter closed it when he had company only to spare Fitz from red-faced mortification.

Face already beginning to flame, he gathered up all the female articles and put them in the toilet. He was debating between getting Jemma or just making himself quickly presentable when Hunter’s door opened and he stepped out wearing nothing but his pants.

“Hey, Fitz!” he said in a hushed but exuberant tone. “Sooo—how’d it go?”

Fitz was trying to decide how to phrase it when words suddenly spilled from his lips unchecked: “I’m in love, Hunter. She’s gorgeous. A scientist! Can you believe it? She’s a biologist but now she’s studyin' chemistry at the Sorbonne! I’m goin' to marry her.” He stopped and went back over the words he’d just said and realized his friend would likely just think him naive. Well, it couldn’t be helped. “It’s meant to be,” he added, nodding once at his assessment.

“Right,” Hunter said, running a hand over his unkempt hair, sending it up in little tufts. “So, the girl you met last night, yeah?”

Fitz nodded vigorously.

“You went back to ’er place, had it off, and now—you’re gettin‘ married?”

“Well, no,” he clarified with a chuckle. “I haven’t mentioned any of that to _her_ yet. Christ, Hunter, we've just met.”

He was nodding as he yawned sleepily. He patted Fitz's shoulder and said, “Oh, well. Yeah. Of course. But that’s good, right? I mean, you should definitely wait a bit. Don’t want to seem too eager an' that. Not to mention, I thought you hated all that biology nonsense?”

Fitz wasn’t sure which to address first, the question or his friend’s patronizing tone. “I know it sounds daft, Hunter, but this is real. I’m sure of it.”

“Okay, okay,” Hunter said resignedly. “Just let me ’ave a piss and we’ll sort it out.”

He realized he was standing halfway in the door to the toilet and he quickly stepped aside.

“Fuck, I need some bloody coffee.” He heard Hunter mutter as he went into the room and shut the door.

He didn’t want to waste time so he went and changed his clothes and packed a small bag with everything he might need except for his toiletries.

He dropped the bag in the foyer and, when he came back, Hunter was standing in the doorway to the toilet with his toothbrush hanging from his foamy mouth. “I need to have a shave,” he told him, indicating how he was blocking the way. When Hunter just stared at him, Fitz self-consciously added, “We’re goin’, eh, t' that lecture you were talkin’ about.”

Hunter took the brush from his mouth and said, “Great, I am as well. I’m over the moon to meet your lovely lady friend.”

Fitz just stared at him. He saw the implacable look in his eye. It was a look he was familiar with and he knew there was no changing his mind. He’d likely follow them to the lecture if he didn’t give in. “Well, put some trousers on, then! She’s downstairs,” he said, irritated but unsurprised at his friend's skepticism. “I’ll go get her. I don’t want you taggin’ along with us all bloody day. Hurry up! She’s goin’ to think I’ve abandoned her.”

Hunter smirked in a way Fitz found both galling and confounding. “Alright, go get ’er, then,” he said before he rinsed his mouth. “I’m dyin’ to meet the girl with charms enough to get _you_ this hot-blooded. I was honestly beginnin’ to think you were goin’ to ’ave to reproduce through parthenogenesis one day.”

“Ha-ha,” Fitz deadpanned. “I like women as much as the next bloke. And I _do_ still hate biology but that doesn’t mean I can’t—Oh, to hell with this! Get your bloody trousers on!” he blustered. This was taking too damned long.

Hunter saluted and turned to go back in his room, closing the door behind him. Then, Fitz remembered there was probably a lady in there. _Fuck!_

He hurried down to the foyer and found Jemma still sitting in the chair by the window. “Eh, Jemma?” he said, feeling awkward after having left her for so long. He was going to need another bath after all the bloody stairs as well.

She looked up from her book and, seeing he’d changed but not shaved, asked, “Safe to come up?”

“Ehm, well, I think so, but my flatmate—he, eh, he wants t' meet you. If that’s—I mean, if tha’s alright.”

“Well, you met _my_ former flatmate. I suppose turnabout is fair play,” she said, drawing a ribbon through her book to mark the place before she dropped it back into her bag.

This time the elevator was empty. They rode up in a cloud of odd silence and Fitz found it uncomfortable in her presence for the first time.

He opened the flat door and held it for her as she went in. He was stunned to find Hunter standing in the sitting room, fully dressed and having thrown open the curtains so that bright sunlight came streaming in. A condition Fitz had rarely seen the place in for the whole two weeks so far.

“Eh, Jemma Simmons, this is Lance Hunter, my flatmate from Cambridge,” he said formally.

Hunter took her hand in a mannered and quite polished way that he'd never seen from him before. Fitz was quite startled, when he said, “It’s so lovely to meet you, Miss Simmons.”

“Very nice to meet you as well, Mr. Hunter,” she returned.

“Just call me Hunter and, please, do sit down,” he offered cordially.

“Thank you,” she said, taking a seat with her back to Fitz.

“We’re alright, mate,” Hunter said to him. With a flick of his wrist to shoo him out, he added, “You, go do your shavin’. We’ll just ’ave a nice chat.”

Fitz eyed him suspiciously and mouthed:  _Do_ not _fuck about._

Hunter inclined his head, smiling capriciously, and it gave Fitz no comfort whatsoever.

* * *

Once Fitz had gone, leaving her alone with Hunter, Jemma really had no idea what to expect. She met his gaze with interest as he seemed to be assessing her.

“So,” he drawled as he sat down, “you’re not quite what I expected.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, not sure what he meant.

“I just thought you’d be—dunno, really. Now I think on it. I had no idea what sort of lady my innocent little flatmate would bring home one day,” he said, looking contemplative. “But you, I dunno about you,” he continued, giving her a slight derisive sneer, “I’ve not seen one quite like you before, but I’m guessin’ you're not the marryin’ sort. You look another species altogether, actually.”

Jemma scoffed at his incredible cheek. Shooting him a heavily contemptuous look and finding herself unable to believe he was quite so blunt. “I am a scientist,” she finally said, without really intending to.

Hunter smirked. “Yeah, ’e told me. And, hey,” he continued, holding up his hands placatingly, “I’m not judgin’. Lord knows, _I’m_ in no position for that. I’m just tryin’ to offer you a bi' of advice.” He gave her a significant look and then started to add, “Let ’em—”

Then Fitz came around the corner, looking anxious as he dried his face with a flannel. The bright, golden sunlight from the window was pouring into the room and it seemed, impossibly, like most of it was falling on Fitz’s face. With his cheeks now smooth and unmarred, he looked younger, but somehow it also made his eyes appear bluer and his lips more tender and in need of being kissed. She found herself taking in a sharp breath at the sight of him. His hair seemed lighter, he’d even rearranged it so his damp curls were tighter, more apparent, and it made him look sweetly angelic.

“Everythin’ okay?” Fitz asked, his eyes widened with concern.

She shook herself mentally and, glancing back at Hunter, got an odd, almost-amused look from him before he peered up at Fitz and said, “Yeah, everythin’s fine, mate. We’re just gettin’ to know one another. Havin’ a nice li'l chat.”

“Jemma?” Fitz questioned, watching her curiously with his inconceivably blue eyes.

“Yes!” she spluttered. “Fine. We’re fine.”

“Alright,” he said. “Just another moment, almost ready.”

He turned to go back the way he’d come and she found herself staring after him. When she glanced back at Hunter, he was still giving her the same slightly-amused look as before.

“You, eh, had some— _advice_ , I believe,” she said tensely, trying to keep the annoyance from her tone for Fitz's sake, anyway.

“Oh. Right,” he said, smiling pleasantly now and shaking his head slowly back and forth. “Can’t remember. Isn’t that odd? Anyway, welcome to the family,” he finished and held out his hand.

Jemma looked down at it for a moment, wondering at his rather offensive first assessment of her, but then she heard Fitz coming down the hallway, humming something rather tunelessly and, without thinking, she slipped her hand into Hunter’s and nodded.

“All ready now!” Fitz said behind her, and she released Hunter’s hand.

“Time for that oh-so-stimulatin' lecture, eh?” Hunter asked drolly. “You don’t mind if I tag along, then?”

“Yes, I mind!” “Of course not.” Fitz and Jemma answered together.

Fitz’s mouth opened and closed several times making him look less like an angel and more like an angel _fish_. Then, for reasons unknown to her, he shot Hunter a dangerous glare.

“Join us, of course, _mate_ ,” Fitz said through clenched teeth.

“Excellent,” Hunter said, rising to his feet.

Just then, three women came out of the room in the hallway. They seemed to be naked and arguing over a single sheet in enthusiastic and quite vulgar French. 

Fitz's eyes grew incredibly large and his jaw fell to gaping. He looked from Hunter to Jemma and then back to the three women. Then his mouth fell open further. 

“We are goin’ to 'ave such fun," Hunter said, patting Fitz's shoulder emphatically. 

 


	7. Don't Fence Me In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still no smut, only fluff!

“Well, I was right about us havin’ quite a lot of fun,” Hunter said as he tried to shake off the man who was escorting him out of the Institut.

“Just apologize,” Fitz whispered harshly in Jemma’s direction. The guard escorting him wasn't manhandling him like Hunter's was but he gave him a push that made him stumble. Jemma pointedly ignored him, instead, choosing to shout at her escort in such quickly rifled off French that he scarcely understood what she was saying. Though he was certain that it wasn’t an apology.

The three guards left them unceremoniously on the front steps and proceeded to protect the entrance with their identical glowers.

“That’s _that_ , I suppose,” Hunter said, not sounding terribly perturbed about the situation at all.

“You might’ve apologized," Fitz said again to Jemma. "He _is_ the Head of Bacteriology at the Institut Pasteur after all.”

Shooting him an intense look of irritation and rolling her eyes in disgust, she said, “I wouldn’t apologize to that puffed up idiot for all the tea in China!”

“He won the bloody Nobel Prize for medicine last year! He deserves _some_ respect,” he argued, though he didn’t finish with as much heat as he’d begun with. He was beginning to realize that strongly disagreeing with the woman he was trying to impress might not be the way to her heart.

“I don’t care if he’s the ruddy King of England! He’s still wrong. I should report him to the League of Nations,” she fired back.

“Ehm, okay. Fine,” he settled on, just hoping to make peace now.

“I thought it was quite rousing, really,” Hunter chimed in, and Fitz really didn’t like the little smile Jemma gave him in the least.

He moved between them and held his arm out for Jemma to take, then he said, “I’m sorry, Jemma. Er, maybe we could go for a late lunch or we could get ready for an early supper?”

“Rousing?” she asked Hunter, ignoring Fitz's question.

“Me, I always fancy a good row,” Hunter replied with a wink and a winsome grin.

Fitz started to feel his heart going faster, skittering along at a frightening pace as Jemma smiled back at his flatmate. He should really go about finding a new one, he thought.

Jemma gave him a look full of disappointment and said, “You’re hungry again? Already? Seems we just ate.” He wanted to hang his head at her look but he wasn’t quite ready to give up just yet. He also refrained from mentioning that it'd actually been _hours_ since they'd eaten—at least two, anyway.

He looked at Hunter with his square jaw and athletic physique. He found himself wondering—for the hundredth time that day, at least—what the man did with _three_ women. Fitz felt like his hands were full, quite literally, with just one. The logistics of it were beyond him. Then he remembered that this was not the actual point. He was wondering if Jemma actually might prefer someone more fit perhaps or someone more classically handsome than himself. He still had no idea what she liked or what her expectations were from life. He needed to fill in those holes in his knowledge base post haste.

“No,” he answered a bit glumly. “I was only thinkin' of you. I thought we might have a nice meal out. My treat?”

“Perhaps an early supper, then,” she suggested, looking at Hunter and then pointedly at Fitz. He received her silent message with an over-long sigh.

“You’re welcome to join us, of course,” he said to his, no doubt, soon-to-be- _ex_ flatmate.

Hunter had a bit of a gleam in his eye as he said, “Cheers but I think I’ll pass on your kind offer. However, I’d be quite happy if you’d both be my guests at the Moulin Rouge tonight.”

He looked at Jemma and couldn’t help but feel a bit disheartened at how eager she appeared. She nodded at him, and Fitz said, “Yeah, thanks very much. We’d be—“

“—Delighted to come,” Jemma finished for him, her voice eerily cheerful.

“Excellent,” Hunter said. “Now, can I drop you two somewhere?”

Fitz looked expectantly at Jemma. A strange expression came over her face, and she said, “Perhaps we could go to my lab at the Sorbonne?”

“Ehm, okay,” Fitz said, not liking her odd look but seeing no drawbacks to her lab. Perhaps he’d find some way to impress her with science?

* * *

As Hunter drove them back to the center of Paris, Jemma slipped down in the seat and rested her head against Fitz's arm. Moving his arm out gently, he brought it around her and she nestled her head against his shoulder, taking comfort in the closeness. She was still upset about her tiff with Dr. Nicholle. In hindsight, Jemma was amused at Fitz’s greater concern over propriety than scientific debate. Not that Dr. Nicholle had allowed much debate in the end. But it wasn’t his unwillingness to discuss the issue that had sparked her anger, it was his condescension because she was a woman.

Jemma had begun her education with a tutor. She had been very clever, a Frenchwoman named Heléne. Certainly she'd been clever enough to teach Jemma when she was four. From her, she'd learnt French, maths, science and all about the stars. Heléne told her stories about Hypatia of Greece—a female mathematician, astronomer and philosopher—and Madame Curie, of course, who'd won the Nobel prize when Jemma was still just four. It all made her long to be a part of it. She wanted to discover things just as they did. It quickly became her dream.

At her home, being born a female had never been an issue. As their only child, her parents cared for her and treated her as they would any child. Even as Heléne taught her, she had no idea the difficulties that awaited her. By the time she was seven, she had outgrown Heléne. Her father saw it and, despite her mother’s adamant refusals, he set out to send Jemma to boarding school. It took a fair bit of convincing for her mother and ultimately it had still taken a year.

 _"…For her own good, Mary,"_ she’d overheard her father telling her mother one night as she listened intently at the keyhole. " _She’s too bright to languish here with tutors she can think circles around—and for what?—awaiting the marriage proposal of some fool with half her mind,"_  he'd said forcefully. And if she hadn’t known she’d loved her father before, that certainly would’ve sealed his fate. _"When she eventually marries, let it be to keep the family name from dying out."_  That nearly set him back a few pegs in her estimation. _"No need for her to forgo her future though. Not for the sake of playing house with some minor noble. Our Jem will never be content to sit home with her brood,"_ he finished, and was redeemed.

Jemma’s mother had been scandalized but, once she’d recovered from the shock, she replied, _"What can you possibly mean, Henry? When she’s a mother, she’ll be with her children. It’s in every mother’s very nature to care for her young ones."_

The rest of their conversation was lost as Jemma first realized that perhaps her mother was right. She already understood a fair bit of biology and if there was one thing she knew for sure, it was that nature made certain to protect the survival of the next generation even to the detriment of the preceding one. That seemed simple enough: no children. If there were no children there seemed certainly no reason for marriage. It was only a waste of time, surely. Of course, at eight, she didn’t yet know what urges would come to live and grow within her as she developed. So she went off to boarding school with the sure knowledge that she would never marry, and certainly never have children.

At her new boarding school, despite their heavy emphasis on academic achievement, she’d been bowled over by the the attitude of every girl. It permeated the entire school with its hopelessness. For them, there was no future, no achievement they could seek or attain that was higher than the goal of finding a good husband. Her rebellion started soon after.

She argued with her instructors or yelled at them, and if they were men who impugned her simply because she was female rather than male she called them filthy names. She was promptly expelled.

Explaining what had happened to her father, she was pleased when he only laughed and asked her what names she’d called them. And, though her mother shook her head and looked vaguely disappointed in her unladylike behavior, she said nothing.

She was sent to boarding school after boarding school, until her father finally found her a tutor who could actually come close to matching her in wit, at least when it came to science. Even so, she was still rushed off to Oxford as soon as they would take her, much to her delight.

Even there, things were still often unfairly swayed toward the male students. She never bothered with scientific competitions, knowing the winners were always chosen from among the men. Still, it was a vast improvement over the drab, dismal attitude that she’d encountered at every all-girl boarding school she’d attended.

However, it was also there at Oxford, surrounded by both male and female students that she began to become aware of her own burgeoning desires. Her roommate was a silly girl with rich parents who only wished to up her market value to something they felt would make up for her lack of polish. She talked incessantly of finding a husband and Jemma often thought of smothering her with her own pillow.

With this poison poured constantly in her ear, if she saw an attractive boy who showed an interest, she would quickly begin to avoid him at all costs. She buried herself in her studies, taking many classes that had nothing to do with her chosen field, simply absorbing everything she could, with her father’s blessing and her mother’s tolerance.

In her final term before graduating with her masters—for some time freed of her scourge of a roommate who’d married a toffee-nosed ninny the previous year—she met a boy who took her fancy. She thought about it and decided that she should have done with the mystery. Do The Deed and rid herself of the urge along with sating her curiosity. He was a kind, sweet-faced boy but when the time came and she’d finally decided she was ready, he balked at her boldness and called her a hussy. She didn’t cry.

It hadn’t taken much to convince her father that she should go to the Sorbonne. Both her parents were well aware of her idolization of Madame Curie. Once Jemma's father had agreed to let her go, her mother had complained that she still hadn’t yet had her coming out. Jemma only rolled her eyes and laughed with her father. His only requirement was that she stay with Daisy, the flatmate he’d arranged through a business contact. The following year, it’d only taken a little more convincing that having a flatmate interfered with her studies and that she now knew the city well enough to live on her own.

She went home for a visit at the end of last term, partially to reinforce that he’d made the right decision to let her live on her own. “You’re a clever girl, Jem,” he'd told her, his face as serious as she’d ever seen it. “Don’t do anything foolish.”

“Oh, dad,” she'd said to him, hugging him tight. And then his serious face vanished and he laughed like he always did and made her feel like he couldn’t be more proud of his child heedless of her gender.

She promised herself she would never let him down in that regard. Jemma Simmons was not foolish, and she would act accordingly.

* * *

Fitz was still terrified that he’d spoiled things even as she led him down hallway after indistinct hallway until she finally pointed to a door and, grinning broadly, cheerily exclaimed, “Here’s my lab!”

He tried to decipher the French on the door but his brain refused to make sense of it. Languages were never his strong suit, science had always been the place where he excelled, and exceptionally well at that.

He nodded dumbly and said, “Looks brilliant.”

Unlocking it, she pushed the door inward and gestured that he should go in. He went ahead, but was careful to hold the door for her as she entered. His mother had always emphasized how important manners were and he'd never had reason to doubt it. Now especially, as Jemma often gave him a wide grin for all his efforts at courtesy. 

The room was quite small and every surface was covered with equipment. Only little ledges of workspace were available for use but everything was extremely neat and tidy. Not that he expected anything less from Jemma.

“See, I wanted to show you what I was discussing with Dr. Nicholle,” she said gesturing to a large piece of equipment that sat on the floor apart from the benches.

“Okay,” he said warily. The last thing he wanted was for this to turn into a row between them.

“This incubator is very similar to the one they use in their labs at Institut Pasteur,” she explained. “When you keep two different strains in the same incubator, you risk contamination. I’ve had it happen myself before I was more knowledgeable. That’s all I was trying to explain to him.”

When he didn't respond straight away, she looked suddenly like she might cry. Internally, he went into a panic. What was he supposed to do? Comfort her? Pretend it wasn’t happening? He knew that’s what he would do if it were a man but he always felt compelled to comfort a woman. With Jemma, though there was no doubting she was a woman, it seemed wrong somehow. Perhaps he should just ask, he decided. He was saved when she seemed to shake off the turbulent emotion.

“He just wouldn’t listen and I don’t want anyone to get hurt when they receive their vaccines,” she said with utter earnest conviction.

He nodded sagely, giving himself time to respond. “Well, but I’m sure they must already know then. If you’ve experienced it more than once, I’m sure _they_ have.”

“But the strains are too similar. Only an expert would be able to tell the difference between them. No lab assistant would ever know. But the more virulent strain could be deadly,” she emphasized fervently.

“Certainly they have some system for controllin' the quality,” he suggested, wishing he could just accept what she said but without further evidence he couldn't see how.

A strange look came over her face and anger followed hot on its heels. “You don’t believe me. You think because I’m a woman, I’m not competent to make assessments,” she spat.

Fitz was so stunned at her leap of logic that, at first, he didn’t know what to say. Brow furrowed, he opened his mouth to speak but nothing seemed to come out but an overly-reedy, “What?”

“Maybe, this was a mistake,” she said with a finality that made his blood run cold. Somehow he knew she didn't mean taking a jaunt to the lab.

Panic seized him but he tried to remember that he often did some of his best work when under a deadline. “Jemma, no! I never would’ve even thought that. Your bein' a woman has nothin' to do with anythin' I’ve said.” It seemed inadequate to the accusation but he waited to see what she’d say.

Her brows drew down as if she were thinking but he could still see the anger behind her eyes. “Then why wouldn’t you agree? My conclusion is correct. And why wouldn’t you support me when I tried to make my argument to Nicholle?”

“Well,” he began, hating what he was going to have to say now and fearing that it would drive her away finally. “I don’t disagree _per se_. I just feel that I don’t have all the facts. Sorry to say but, well—another man would never have addressed that in front of his peers. You embarrassed him.” He gritted his teeth and waited for her to tell him he was being biased again.

She seemed to think on this for a moment, her eyes drifting to the floor in thought. “Right,” she said finally. “I’ll remember that.” She looked up at him. “What facts are you missing, then?”

“Well, for one thing, how do you know they have the same incubator? And, for another, that they store the strains together?” he asked, feeling like he could draw breath again, at least a bit.

“Oh, simple. I toured their labs. I watched them placing the virulent strains in with the vaccine strains and saw the possibility for cross contamination,” she said, her smile coming more easily again.

“That makes a bit more sense and is also rather alarming,” he told her truthfully. “Did you try to—”

“—Tell them at the time?” She was nodding her head vigorously. “Yes, they said it had never happened before. But I promise you, it will. I’ve seen it happen,” she assured him.

“I don’t doubt your honesty,” he said, attempting to be supportive and hoping he was at least coming close. He felt like he’d lost some ground with her even though he didn’t believe he’d been thinking as she suggested. She was obviously brilliant—far more than anyone else he knew, man or woman—and he certainly had no reason to think she would distort the facts. And he really didn't see what any of it had to do with her being a woman anyway.

It occurred to him that he’d not thought about the difficulties that she might’ve faced coming up in the scientific community. He’d obviously heard of Madame Curie and he certainly knew that she was a bit of a rarity but it’d never occurred to him why. Perhaps it was endemic within the field? But then he realized that seemed quite foolish because it was far more likely it was systemic throughout—well, everything. How often had he heard what nice girls did or didn’t do? Or what a woman’s place was? A lot. That was how often. He hardly paid attention to the idiots at uni but he listened enough to’ve heard those things a fair few times. He might be an idiot when it came to _some_ things but that was definitely not the particular brand of idiot he would ever be.

“Perhaps we could write a letter?” he suggested.

“Yes!” she agreed instantly.

“We could address it to—“

“—Nicholle’s superior?” she suggested.

“Right.”

She got out a fountain pen and paper from a drawer and began to write. She bent over the lab bench with her elbows to either side of the paper as she wrote, occasionally blotting the paper as he watched her.

“It should emphasize that you—“

“—Toured the labs. Agreed,” she finished, nodding once.

“And how you’ve had problems—“

“—With cross contamination. Of course,” she finished again.

“Do you realize you keep finishing my sentences?” he asked, because it really was getting ridiculous. What puzzled him was how much he didn’t mind.

“I do, don’t I?” she said, looking up at him gleefully with her coppery-brown eyes.

“Yes. I think I like it,” he said without thought, still gazing longingly into her eyes.

“Good. Me, as well.” Then she leaned close and kissed him. It was quick but firm, making a little sound as their lips smacked together. It was likely the least passionate of all their kisses so far but somehow it made his stomach swoop and dive just like it had during the one aeroplane ride he’d had. And as much as he wanted to say the words just then, he swallowed them back down. Not until the time was right, he told himself, for at least the second time that day.

Once the letter was finished, they continued to chat about science. She tried to explain to him about her experiments with human blood but he got a bit weak-kneed and had to sit down. Then she told him that the Nobel prize nominees had been announced. Explaining excitedly that, in the area of medicine, two of them had been for discovering vitamins. She also said Louis de Broglie had been nominated for physics and he instantly decided he would win. She remained skeptical, she explained, reserving judgement until she could review more of the facts.

“I’ve read his paper, Jemma. Trust me, he’ll win. His paper is revolutionary. I mean, he’s not Einstein and, really, he's just expanded on Einstein’s theory that if light moves in waves—”

“—Then so does matter.” As she finished his sentence this time, he felt his heart swell in his chest and he had to suppress the urge to propose right there in her tiny, not-very-well-lit lab.

But he didn’t even have money for a ring. It was ridiculous. He needed money for a ring at least. He could get a job. Here in Paris, maybe? An assistant at a lab? But definitely something that paid well. He might take him a few years to move up, however, because he didn’t have his PhD. But, who cares? He and Jemma would be together and, that alone, was enough to make him happy. Then she could still get her degree here. And after that, maybe he could go back and finish later as well? Although, it would have to be after he’d saved a bit of money. It was always an issue. Money, what a bother. Oh. Except Jemma didn't have a problem with money. But that was another problem altogether. So many things to think about.

Then he realized she was staring at him expectantly and he promptly snapped his jaw shut instead of leaving it hanging open like a gobsmacked imbecile.

“You are brilliant,” he said, pushing aside his impetuous feelings. He really needed to go by _her_ cues. That's how it should be done, wait until everything was perfect. That was the way to court a lady. He’d hardly come along at all in proving himself to her after all. He needed to be brilliant himself. Make her see why she couldn’t possibly live without him. That was the first step.

Her demure smile at his compliment made his heart beat a bit faster but he didn’t let it stop him from continuing on, “I’ve never met anyone as clever as you are.”

Her smile grew wider and she even seemed to flush pink in the late afternoon light coming through the windows behind them. He shyly picked up her hand where it was resting on the bench top and kissed the smooth skin of the back of her hand. She looked up at him from beneath her lashes and he turned her hand over to kiss her palm.

“We should go back to my flat now,” she said with a bit of a sly tone and a heated look that made it difficult to swallow through his dry throat. "We need to dress for our supper." 

“Right,” he agreed and, releasing her hand so she could straighten her things, he checked the time on his watch. It was nearly six and they’d told Hunter to expect them by nine o’clock. “Shite,” he said, then pressed his lips together in shame. “Ehm, Jemma, it’s nearly six now.”

“Oh!” she said. “We’ll be late.”


	8. Can Can

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nearly seven thousand words of NSFW naughtiness.  
> There's a small bit of French in there and I put translations in the end notes.
> 
> Also, here's a playlist of 20s music including the song mentioned in the chapter. [Roaring Twenties on 8Tracks](http://8tracks.com/madalayna/let-s-do-it-let-s-fall-in-love)

They had trouble getting a cab as they hurried back to Jemma’s flat. Even though she gave him a fevered kiss nearly as soon as they could get through the door, it was far too brief for his liking and she soon pulled away, leaving him breathless and wanting.

“We’ll be late,” she cried as she ran across the room to her wardrobe. She was as flustered as he’d seen her yet at the idea of being late. He shoved the jealousy he was feeling deeper inside himself and tried to ignore it. He didn’t really have any cause just yet after all.

While she disappeared to the loo, he dug through his case and then changed into the one decent dinner suit he had.

He was stunned by her beauty once again as she came out. She was buzzing around gathering her accoutrements as he watched her. The dress she wore was red with jet beading over it and her cheeks appeared flush with color next to the deep ruby satin. Her eyes were lively and sparkling, with the scant hint of green in the centers more pronounced. She’d done something different with her hair as well; it was pinned up in back and she wore a decorative band over it like a crown.

Even though time had got away from them, Fitz thought they might still have a romantic dinner together. But, despite his assurance that Hunter wouldn’t mind their lateness, their dinner ended up a rushed affair that still took too long and cost far too much for his meager budget. Jemma hadn’t seemed particularly impressed with it either, even though the restaurant had been her choice and everything tasted wonderful to him.

Jemma seemed almost haughty as she asked the surly maitre’d for Monsieur Hunter at the door of the music hall. It made him wish he could be half as self-assured as she seemed to be. They were soon escorted to the upper level and a private box. Fitz found he wasn’t shocked in the least. Inside, Hunter stood to greet them graciously, even though they were more than half an hour late. He introduced the girl with him as Angélique. Fitz found himself breathing a small sigh of relief at her presence.

Their waiter—a balding, whip-thin fellow with an equally thin mustache—efficiently took their orders with an attitude that Fitz recognized as “hoping for an ample tip”.

The show had already begun and, taking their seats, he couldn’t keep the smile from his lips as he watched a delighted, grinning Jemma peer down at the singing and dancing people on the stage. At first, he could hardly look at the spectacle since it would require him to tear his eyes off of her. Then, a young woman was singing a song that he happened to catch some of the words to: _I can't give you anything but love, baby. That's the only thing I've plenty of, baby._

He had to quell a sudden surge of gloominess over the blasted lyrics. But it was ludicrous to let himself get upset over a song. After all, his lack of funds was not likely to be the only obstacle to his marrying a woman with a title. It occurred to him then that he was sitting beside _Lady_ Jemma Simmons. He’d known it intellectually, but he just hadn’t really processed it until that moment.

“Setting goals is the path to achievement.” “Success is only a state of mind.” “Never give in and you’ll soon find your fortune.” At least, those were platitudes his professors often spouted. He wanted to blow raspberries at them now. What goal exactly might he set to start his elevation to the ranks of the peerage? What was the path to a half million pounds or so? He sighed and rested his cheek against his hand for a bit of a pout even though he knew he was being absurd. If Jemma noticed, she didn’t say anything.

A few more songs in, Fitz got very uncomfortable when Hunter and his “date” started a bit of a snog session. He glanced at Jemma but she hardly seemed to notice, still watching the revelry below. He tried to keep his eyes trained on the show as well until the noises grew far too lascivious to bear.

He glanced at Jemma again and found that she was watching them rather unashamedly. He was suddenly unsure who he felt he should chastise—Jemma for not averting her eyes or Hunter for not removing himself to his room at the flat. An impish little smirk turned up the corners of her lips once she realized he’d caught her gawping. She took his hand and pulled it around her shoulders as she sat back and returned her attention to the show. But it was only a minute later when he glanced over and caught her staring again. She pressed her lips together and pointedly aimed her eyes away again. He couldn’t help but be curious what she found so fascinating and darted a brief look for himself.

Fuck. Jesus. _Fuck._

He’d seen far too much in that one brief glimpse. Things he shouldn’t see his flatmate doing—or having done to him. When he looked back to Jemma, she was smiling at him with her nose crinkled prettily. Mixing worrisomely in his brain, the combination was horrible; that not-short-enough glance of lewdness and her captivating face were doing things to him that shouldn’t be done. Not here. Not now.

He heard Hunter murmur something in French. A little giggle. And then Hunter said, “Hey, enjoy the show. They’ll put whatever you’d like on my tab. You two enjoy yourselves, yeah?”

Fitz turned without looking directly at him and raised a hand. “Thanks very much. Appreciate it, mate. Cheers.”

Jemma said, “Au revoir,” to Angélique.

The pretty blonde only smiled over her shoulder and said, “Ça-va ça-vient,” and then shrugged back.

Jemma giggled but Fitz had no idea why. But when her intended meaning finally struck him, his eyes widened and a blush crept up his neck.

He didn’t have time to comment, however, because then the can-can dancers came out. The music was quite loud and all he could do was watch.

* * *

“Good heavens,” Fitz said, shocked by the bawdiness on display as the can-can dancers circled the stage, raising their skirts in the air and shaking them provocatively. Each of the dancers wore black stockings and short pantaloons but in between—where one ended and the other began—there was a tantalizing view of rarely-seen flesh.

Jemma tried to keep her giggles behind her hand. Fitz’s priggishness was a great source of amusement for her. It seemed such a deep well she could see finding the sport in making him cringe for years to come. Then she remembered that she would only have until the end of summer. She ignored the small part of her that seemed disquieted by the idea.

Another thing she found that she quite enjoyed was watching Hunter and his friend. She’d observed—rather fascinated—as he slid his hand up his lady friend’s dress, presumably between her legs, as her hand went down his trousers. With all the clothes, Jemma couldn’t see anything specific, really, but the suggestion was incredibly stimulating. Fitz’s stunned face after he’d peeked was adorable. The can-can dancers seemed a small thing in comparison.

She nodded toward that dancers and said, “You saw much more than that last night.” She leaned against Fitz’s arm and traced a finger down his lapel.

“Yes, but—that was _you_ ,” he said, as if it made perfect sense that he was astonished at seeing the thin strips of bare skin shown by the dancers but seeing the entire expanse of hers—a woman he’d met barely twenty-four hours ago—was perfectly normal. She found it slightly unsettling, though she didn’t know why exactly. It could mean anything at this point. Just a strange quirk of language perhaps, she ultimately decided.

She’d been thinking about their morning activities off and on all day and though she knew she could wait until they went back to her flat, the provocative view of Hunter and Angélique had her anxious for their next tryst. She felt oddly almost cocooned in the darkness of the private box and as soon as the notion came to her, she couldn’t let it go. The flash of bright heat that sparked deep in her belly at the idea was unexpected but exhilarating. The fear that came with the plan only added to her arousal.

Nonchalantly, she reached over to where he sat next to her—silly man, clucking like a hen at the dancers—and stroked his knee. She normally might’ve been amused by his antiquated virtuousness but she was so overtaken with her new idea that she could scarcely focus on his words. She brought her hand up the inside of his knee, her fingers light and playful. He looked to her and smiled, clutching at her hand irritatingly. She frowned and gently pulled it free to slide higher. He gave her a more significant look when she’d got halfway to her goal. “Jemma—what're—what are you doin’?” he questioned.

“After noticing your flatmate, I was just wondering what these walls must’ve seen in days gone by,” she said huskily.

“A bit, I suppose,” he said, his tone mildly suspicious.

“Well, should they decide to speak, let’s give them something of interest to say,” she suggested.

He chuckled and she slid her hand a bit higher. “Wh–what’re—“

“Touching you,” she interrupted, deciding that misdirection was not likely to get her anywhere.

His hand went reflexively over hers as she began to caress him through the fabric of his trousers.

“Jemma, not here,” he said, his hushed voice was high and breathy but firmer than she’d expected.

“Why not?” she asked. “No one can see.”

“You can’t be sure,” he whispered harshly, his hand still covered hers but he made no attempt to stop her attentions as he hardened beneath her fingers. She felt the heat between her legs surge and start to throb.

“We’re on the top floor, there’s no one higher. The boxes across can’t possibly see over the balcony wall,” she reasoned, stroking over him more firmly.

“Jemma.” The low whine he made of her name only served to heighten her throbbing and she now began to ache. “We can’t.” He gave her a pleading look and added, “It’ll make a mess.”

A few months ago, she been with a man who’d guided her down by the shoulders to his reddened cock and asked her to use her mouth. She’d tried it—mostly out of curiosity—and found she enjoyed the experience, despite his stopping her so he could finish himself off between her legs. And, but for the new knowledge she’d acquired, the incident had been very unsatisfactory. She hadn’t taken an opportunity to repeat the experiment since then but she believed it might be time. She squeezed her thighs together at the thought that it would be Fitz, it excited her in a way she’d never experienced before.

“I’ll use my mouth,” she whispered near his ear.

He gasped and the look on his face was half terror and another half intense desire but she saw him fighting it. “We, ehm—we could go back to your flat now,” he suggested quietly but his tone was drained of hope, as if he already knew he was in a losing battle.

“No,” she said, taking her hand away. “Let’s just watch. Forget I mentioned it.”

She could practically feel his mind working as he sat beside her. Pretending to take in the show, she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and waited.

“We might get caught,” he finally said, but now he only sounded resigned.

“I know,” she said probably a bit too cheerfully. “Isn’t it thrilling?”

“Not my first choice of word,” he grumbled and she was surprised how endearing she found his grumpiness.

She gave him a significant look and, though his eyes rolled about in indecision for a moment, he nodded.

She eased down from her chair to her knees behind the low wall of the balcony and moved between his legs. The moment her fingers touched his zip, he breathlessly mumbled, “Lord, I can’t believe I’m doin’ this.”

“Yes or no?” she asked, taking her hands away and sitting back on her heels.

“You don’t _want_ to get caught, do you?” he asked, grimacing slightly.

“No,” she said truthfully. She thought she’d likely be as mortified as he was should it actually happen. But the idea of it was certainly doing things to her. “You didn’t seem so shy back at the club,” she said playfully, running her palms up his calves.

“I was blinded by a gorgeous gem,” he said and smiled sweetly. She found herself mirroring him but it slowly melted from her features as he sighed, his eyes flitting up toward the ceiling and back down to her again. She was filled with dread suddenly as it seemed he was about to give her some truly awful news. “I’m not adventurous by nature, y'know? Not really.”

Internally, she breathed a great sigh of relief. “I’m guessing that’s a sure no, then,” she said, disappointment filling her.

He pressed his lips together and said, “You make me feel—bolder, Jemma. I think—well—that I might follow you nearly anywhere.” He reached down, holding his hand out to her.

She felt oddly light suddenly as she brought her hand up over his outstretched palm.

Just then, someone rapped twice and immediately opened the door to their box.

Fitz seemed to nearly jump out of his skin as their waiter took in the sight and said, “Uh, uh. Excusez moi!” He spun around instantly and headed out with his little tray held high in the air. Jemma heard him mutter, “Mon Dieu! Fairez une pipe?” as he shut the door.

Fitz’s eyes were large and he might’ve been hyperventilating as he said, “Yeah, glad we didn’t—”

Jemma chuckled. “Well, I suppose we’ll never know if it would’ve gone well or not.”

“Oh, I know,” he said, his hand still clutching at his chest. “Terror doesn’t do much for— _that_.”

“Have you had enough of the theater, then?” she asked mischievously, running her hands partway up his thighs. “Ready to go back to my flat?”

“Yes,” he said instantly, relief suffusing his words. He stood, reaching down for her hand so he could help her up, and then he moved ahead of her so he could open the door. She waited and took his arm as they walked down the concourse toward the stairs.

Jemma saw a woman come out of one of the private loos that were just for the boxes on this floor. She took hold of Fitz’s hand and pulled him to the door, quietly waiting until the woman had gone back into her box.

With what she was sure was a devilish grin, she pointed toward the door. “How about a compromise?”

“Ehm, a what?” he asked, his bewilderment written in the slant of his eyebrows.

“Come in with me,” she said. “Quickly, before someone comes along.” She looked warily up and down the concourse.

When he didn’t readily move on his own, she gestured toward the door. He still looked dubious, and a pink glow had begun to tinge his features, but he came inside willingly enough.

She twisted the lock purposefully, so he could see her do it—hoping to quell some of his fears that she wished to be caught in the throes. Though the idea of even someone coming to the door during their endeavor was making her heart beat furiously. She stepped toward him, watching his uncertainty war with his desire. He bumped against the pale green-tiled wall as she took another step forward.

She took hold of his lapels and leaned up, pausing just shy of his mouth. She ghosted over his lips with her own but never touched them. Sliding her tongue out between her lips just a fraction, she passed over them slowly, wetting them lightly. The mingling swirl of their breath when she inhaled just as he exhaled was so heady her eyes slipped closed. Even so, she felt a strange frisson just before his lips came down and met hers. It was accompanied by that odd feeling she’d been getting in her chest lately. Perhaps she needed to visit the doctor?

Once his lips were on hers, she kissed him savagely, her tongue careless as it rushed into his mouth. She liked the idea of doing to him, even in some small way, what he would soon do to her. He pulled in a harsh breath as she sucked his bottom lip between her teeth and then nipped him sharply. He responded with a little noise of surprise but none of it was bringing her higher. He was still rather less enthusiastic than she’d hoped for. She felt him keeping a distance, not letting himself go. She pulled away, half turning, and then ran her fingers over her lips to smooth her lip color.

“It’s alright,” she said, disappointed but still trying to think of exciting things they might do back at the flat.

He caught her around the waist suddenly and pulled her against him. She immediately felt that his excitement level was much greater than she’d realized now that it was pressing into her hip.

“So _that’s_ a yes, then, is it?” she asked, grinning up at him.

He nodded, his eyes dark and wanting, but then he looked around the room and said, “But, ehm, _where_?”

She smiled, then pressed her back to the tiled wall and said, “Just here.”

“Oh,” he said. “Right,” but his eyes were a bit wide like he couldn't quite work out the logistics. Somehow, Jemma wasn't worried—he was an engineer after all. 

Anticipation was humming within her as she reached up to stroke her fingers through the short hairs at his temple. Sliding her fingertips through his stiff, curly hair, she dropped lower behind his ear and over his neck, until she made him shiver. Then, she traced lazily across his shoulder, down his chest, under the lapel of his jacket and then gripped it loosely. She brought her other hand up to take the other side and slowly eased his jacket off, tossing it into the bowl of the nearby sink.

He moved in close then, crowding her against the wall and, without further hesitation, kissed her deeply with his tongue teasing just how she liked. He parted from her a fraction, and she felt his cool breath on her cheek. She felt something rise within her again but she decided it must just be her desire in need of quenching again. She wrapped her arm around his neck and pulled him back in. Sliding her tongue along his lower lip, she reached her hand down to stroke him through his trousers and his answering groan made her grin against his mouth.

His hands ran tenderly over her shoulders and then more tentatively down to her breasts. At her sigh of pleasure, he began caressing them quite enthusiastically through her dress. She really was growing to love his hands, she decided, as he dragged the thin satin from her shoulder. He then boldly thumbed down the strap of her brassiere as well, pulling the cup down slowly until her small, pink nipple was exposed, already somewhat erect from his attention.

She moaned as he bent down to slide his tongue over the rapidly tightening peak, only remembering afterwards that she should quiet herself. She was clutching at his top as she tried to keep her pleased groans from echoing through the room. He pointed his tongue, just using the rigid tip to circle around and then flick over the center, making her ache. The cool air against the wet trails left in the wake of his mouth brought tingles of pleasure that radiated outward. Her skin grew flush and her breath came in little pants as he took the tense center into his mouth and began to suckle. She had to remind herself to keep her fingers from clutching at his hair. She pressed her lips together tightly but the little hums that escaped were still echoing off the tile.

She felt his hand running downward over her belly, electrifying the insistent buzz of heat between her legs, but his fingers paused shakily just over her pubic bone. She moaned and rocked her hips forward to urge him on. He pushed his fingers into the space between her legs even though her dress was caught between. Cupping her, he tightened his grip, applying delicious pressure. He played over her lips through the fabric, curling his fingers perfectly against her. She whimpered and pushed against them, gyrating until he finally rucked her dress up to her waist and slipped his hand down into her knickers. He pressed the tip of his nose to her cheekbone as he combed through her curls, lightly teasing as he moved lower.

“Yes,” she couldn’t help moaning out as his fingers finally eased into her slick folds. She widened her legs and rolled her hips to meet him. He circled slowly around where she wanted him but after being aroused to some degree since before they’d left the lab, she was already too far gone.

“No, don’t go slow,” she bit out.

Already, she could feel how easily his fingers slipped against her. It seemed almost shameful, but the relentless hum of her burgeoning climax had her well past caring now. He pressed his fingers into her and began to move. She choked on the moan that wanted to escape but he brought his lips to hers again, swallowing her moan with a kiss. She let out a long sigh when he moved down her neck, kissing below her ear just as he used his free hand to thumb over her exposed nipple and draw it out between his fingers.

She could feel her wetness beginning to coat the insides of her thighs as his fingers continued to work in and out. Her hips were rolling, meeting his thrusts, and she already felt the sharp prickle of impending bliss. She reached for the zip on his trousers and began to undo it. He gasped against her neck as she worked to push them down his hips. She undid the hooks and shoved her own knickers to the floor, kicking them to the side.

“Lift me up,” she said urgently as her fingers tried to work the tiny buttons on his pants.

Shifting the fabric of her dress out of his way, he reached down, running his hands along her thighs looking for a place to grasp on. He was halted when he brushed his fingers over the strap of her garter belt. He looked down, fascinated, and when he saw the strap cutting across her skin, she felt his half-undone pants slip from her fingers as he dropped to his knees. He began to mouth her thigh hotly just to the side of the strap.

He kissed and licked at her tender skin, his tongue messy as he lapped over it. He toyed with her garter—touching it, running his fingers over it and beneath it. From deep in his throat, guttural groans thick with need were filling the small space as he adored her with his mouth, and his obvious enjoyment was bringing her to even greater heights of passion. She threaded her fingers into his curls and bit her lip to quiet her own animal noises.

He paused, inhaling her scent with his eyes closed before he began to move higher up her leg, nipping gently at the delicate inner surface as he went. He lifted her knee higher, suspending it spread wide to give himself room. She pressed her head back against the wall and suppressed a groan behind her teeth as he began to lick at the thin sheen of wetness along her inner thigh before sucking along the seam. He spread her open and then his tongue was slipping eagerly through her folds, back and forward within the sensitive shell of her sex.

The muffled cadence of the music behind the door was only punctuated by the wet noises of his mouth and her increasingly unfettered moans. He dragged her knee up onto his shoulder and slid his hand down her thigh to rest on the roundness of her backside, his fingers hinting along the seam where his tongue had just been. He locked his other arm around her hips, angling her toward him for better access. Finally, he flicked his tongue lightly against her clitoris and she shivered with excitement. Pausing, he teasingly ran the tip of his nose through the hair just above her cleft and she whimpered desperately. Her body already ripe and yearning, she rocked her hips against him involuntarily. He brought his lips around her ready flesh and the pleasure was so startling that no sound could escape her then but a sudden exhale that seemed to echo through the room.

She felt she was right on the edge already, just at the precipice, when his tongue suddenly changed course and moved lower. He circled around her entrance, finally dipping into her and making her fingers tighten compulsively in his hair.

“Oh, please,” she mewled senselessly as his tongue wiggled and stroked inside. The pleasure was nearly pain as she burned for it to crest.

Her body tried to follow as he withdrew. “Please, this?” He circled his stiff tongue tauntingly around where she needed and her strained flesh quivered and fluttered, tormenting her with the suggestion of what was to come. The tension was agonizing and, all her restraint now shattered, her hips pressed forward, chasing after greater contact with abandon.

“Oh, god,” she moaned too loudly. “Please.” Reaching her hand down to end his game, she heard him gasp himself then, stirred by her lack of inhibition.

He caught her hand before she could reach and took the aching bud between his lips, easing his fingers within her again. Her response was instantaneous. She stiffened, completely forgetting herself and crying out as fiery pleasure blazed through her, racing out to her limbs as hot and devastating as wildfire. Her entire body trembled with it as she pulsed and clenched against his fingers, her mind gone blank as she was overwhelmed by sensation.

Before she even had time to think again, he was moving her leg down and bringing himself up. He shucked off his pants and quickly lifted her with his hands gripping her arse. He brought her up high on the wall and she wrapped her legs around his hips as she held tight to his shoulders. He pressed in and she took hold of him as he eased her back down, groaning as she fitted him smoothly inside. She let out a small cry as the pleasure soared again briefly within her.

He seemed slightly worried and asked, “Was that good or bad?”

“Good,” she managed weakly, her powers of communication uncooperative. “More.”

He was watching her with his intense blue eyes and, once he was sure she was alright, they began lustfully roving over her. He took in her still-exposed breast, her throat and then her face which was undoubtedly still flush with passion in the aftermath of so much pleasure.

With her now very much pinned between him and the wall, he finally began to move. She sighed contentedly, still sated and enjoying the feel of his very warm hands on her arse as he squeezed and shifted her. He couldn’t really thrust well and, after some pleasant grinding, he settled for lifting her and letting her slide back down onto him as he pushed forward. She groaned at the deep pleasure she felt at finally having him so fully within her.

She felt her wetness spreading again, slicking the skin between them as he moved, and occasional faint soppy sounds accompanied their sighs and tense, muted moans as their bodies came together. She only barely noted in some still-functioning part of her mind that this had never happened before. She had never before been so aroused by anyone.

After his next withdrawal, he tried meeting her as she came down, snapping his hips forward in a surprising collision that sent thrilling zings of new heat rippling through her pelvis.

“Yes, that,” she murmured, angling her hips for the most contact as he filled her again.

He agreed with his eyes but then they rolled back, lids slipping shut, as the pleasure began to take him over. She thought of him coming to his climax and the next snap of his hips had her breathless and surging up to yet greater heights that were already threatening to overwhelm her again.

She reached down to touch herself and hurry it along but was halted when she grazed his wet cock as it slicked into her. She could see him withdrawing as he lifted her and her pulse quickened at the sight as an electric jolt of pleasure brought her even closer than before. He was panting, seemingly beyond reason, when he felt her fingers brushing over him and his attention was drawn to the place they were joined. Seeing his mirrored expression of sheer lust was enough to push her over the edge and her orgasm arced through her like an electric current as he clashed against her again. Gripping his shoulder tightly with one hand, she thought to press the other over her mouth as she cried out at the intense pleasure. Her body closed over every inch of him as the feeling thrummed through her mercilessly and before it began to fade.

Her spasms tapering, she felt him twitch within her and she forced open her eyes to watch as he finally reached his finish. His mouth opened but he managed to contain his cry as she felt him quivering inside her, throbbing as he left his residue. She tried to tell herself it was nothing to be stimulated over but felt herself clenching around him in spite of herself, milking the last dregs from him even as she thought of it.

He sighed one last time, and she felt his arms shaking with his efforts even as her own legs began to tremble. She let them down from his hips to the floor one at a time. She felt him slip wetly from within her, his softening member brushing along her clitoris making her shiver reflexively in the wake of such bliss. But the sudden emptiness gave her that odd sensation of loss again and, to counter it, she leaned up to kiss him one last time. She thought it might ease the feeling but, seeing her intent, he turned his head slightly away.

“I don’t think you—” he began, indicating her rapidly-drying wetness around his mouth.

She chuckled lightly. “It’s alright for you but not me?” she questioned with one eyebrow quirked.

He only looked confused. She laid her hands along his cheeks and pulled him down. He didn’t resist her. She tasted the slightly musky flavor that was hers along with the underlying taste of his mouth—now strangely familiar to her—as his tongue slid together with hers. She felt an odd pull deep in the pit of her stomach as they kissed and it made her breath catch in a way that had nothing to do with her well-contented loins.

She let him go.

They began the process of getting things back in order and tidying themselves up. He seemed almost embarrassed by the procedure, turning his back to work his pants and trousers back on over his shoes before he went to the sink to wash himself.

She picked up her knickers and stuffed them into her handbag before she went to the toilet so she could empty her bladder. The loo was open, as it was only meant for one, and when he heard the sound, she could swear that his shoulders rode up to his ears before he rather emphatically turned his back to her. His eyes even drifted up to the ceiling—she could only presume—for extra protection against seeing her in such an inelegant state. She cleaned herself as best she could and, going to the sink to wash, bumped his back with her shoulder to let him know she’d finished—just in case he was mentally blocking his ears as well.

“We’ll be lucky if they don’t have the police waitin’ on the other side of the door,” he mumbled, though he sounded less worried and more generally querulous. She couldn’t estimate if his seeming discontent stemmed from not having enjoyed the variables of the experiment or, more probably, from actually enjoying himself far too much for his own liking. She smirked at the thought.

* * *

He watched as Jemma attempted to mend the mess he’d made of her—reapplying her cosmetics pulled from her handbag and repinning her hair. Occasionally, she glanced at him in the mirror, smiling knowingly. His return smile was likely more puzzled and somewhat distracted. He couldn’t ignore the musky scent of their coupling that hung heavily in the air of the small room.

What the hell? In the bloody toilet? What was wrong with him?!

He still couldn’t believe he’d done such a thing. But with her looking so disappointed at his less-than-enthusiastic response, he’d felt compelled to make an impression. It seemed to him that nearly everything he said or did at present was somehow deeply critical to the ultimate success or failure of his hopes to gain Jemma’s lasting affections. And it occurred to him in that moment, if he refused her once again, she might see the relationship as ultimately doomed. Or even him as just not decisive or brave enough for her liking.

Now it was done, he didn’t know how to feel about it all, really. If he was honest with himself—which he ordinarily tried to be—he’d found it quite a lot more exciting than he was really comfortable with, and it had rather unnerved him.  

He really _wasn’t_ adventurous by nature—never had been. Fitting in had been his goal growing up, never standing out. Even when he'd started to be recognized for his mind, he'd shied from the attention. He’d always done things by the rules as well. (Unless there was a _really_ good excuse, like the time Professor Thomas had banned food in the lab for no good reason. After all, it wasn’t _his_ fault that the other students kept leaving things until they’d had an infestation. He always ate everything _he_ brought.) Not really a comparable example but it did contrast nicely to demonstrate how the idea of intentionally breaking the customary rules of propriety was really quite unusual for him. He felt his heart quiver at the thought of how horrified his mum would be at his behavior. And, though he hadn’t traveled far down that road, he immediately decided it was an avenue of thought he should _definitely_ never go down again. Ever. Not an inch. In any form. Until the end of time. Never.

With Jemma, he’d acted nearly completely on impulse, letting his urges carry him. It had seemed to come off fairly well in the end, which was a bit startling in itself. He always feared that things thoughtlessly said or done might come back to haunt him. So he generally liked to put at least a bit of consideration into anything important he did. But thinking hadn’t really come into it, just then. He was really a bit ashamed of how unrestrained he’d allowed himself to become. He'd had the impulse to kiss the constrained flesh of her thigh and then to taste her—well, he felt almost obscene. He still wasn’t sure what sort of impassioned trance had overwhelmed him as he did things he’d never even contemplated before. He still felt intoxicated by it—by her. His mind seemed almost to be in an altered state caught in some euphoric high.

He wondered suddenly if he weren’t making the same mistake as he had with Rosalie. He’d let his desire for someone to love blind him to the reality of the situation. He’d expected her to take an interest and—to be fair—Rosalie _had_ taken a very shallow interest in his life, but he’d deluded himself into believing that it meant more than it did. Was he doing the same again now? Jemma hadn’t asked him about himself at all—other than to question what he was doing in Paris and for how long. Perhaps he was just doing the same as he’d done before and making the same mistake over again?

He couldn’t deny how he felt, however. It was so strong, he couldn’t imagine feeling more for anyone. He also couldn’t ignore the fact that, had he dreamt up his ideal partner, the woman he’d have ended up with wouldn’t be half as brilliant or beautiful as Jemma. Really, he didn’t deserve her. But who ever would? Certainly not some rich idiot with half her intelligence. Was it really just between that or an equally clever but woefully impoverished Scot? The poor wretched creature. No matter what she chose she’d be going quite below her level on one front or another. But it really couldn’t be helped. She was just too pretty, far too bright and, most unfortunately, too well-situated for the likes of anyone. So, really, all things considered, he likely had as good a shot as anyone. He just hoped she preferred the bloke she settled down with to be the scrawny, shabby, scientifically-gifted kind rather than of the athletically-inclined, rich-and-thick variety.

“There,” Jemma said, running a finger over her lower lip and smoothing out the deep red color she’d placed there. “Do I look alright? Or like I’ve just had a torrid rendezvous with a handsome Scot?”

Fitz was caught off guard by her approval and warred between being flattered by the compliment or terribly embarrassed that someone could possibly hear her speaking in such a way. Though that seemed a small thing after what they might’ve heard a few minutes ago. Still, his attention had been extremely diverted at the time and now it wasn’t.

He ran a hand up the back of his neck and into his hair. “Er, yeah. I mean, you look quite lovely,” he said at last, quashing his urge to ask her to speak more quietly.

She smiled but it didn’t have the vivacity that she’d somehow infused it with earlier. He had to rectify that immediately. He didn’t want the pleasant remnants of their daring encounter to fall to pieces so quickly.

“You’re beautiful, okay? Gorgeous. A vision,” he said, smiling as he dropped his hands onto her shoulders and gently squeezed. Her smile widened just a bit with each description. “Dazzling. Stunning. Exquisite. Clearly much more ravishing, radiant, charming, delightful, ingenious—“

“Fitz!” she protested, he saw that she was blushing now and he couldn’t help but grin. Now, he knew something else about her—she was evidently completely mortified by praise, no matter how deserved. He’d have to remedy that situation. It was a travesty.

“—Brilliant, clever, more capable than anyone else. The most accomplished, sophisticated,” he looked up as if searching for more suitable words, tapping his lip with his index finger and when she frowned, he grinned and rattled off the rest rapid-fire, “graceful, talented, splendid, glorious, sublime, magnificent, fantastic, incredibly caring, wonderful woman I’ve ever met in my life.”

By this point, she was laughing heartily at him as she slid her warm hands up against his chest. He had to suppress a shiver that wanted to run down his spine at the contact. Which was silly considering that there were layers of cloth between her hands and his chest. Then, he remembered that she’d invited him to stay at her flat again. He thought of sleeping with her in his arms, and he could no longer stop the tingling shiver from rippling through him—all he could do was close his eyes and ride it out.

“We should go before someone really does come to the door,” she said, letting her hands slip back off his chest and down to her sides.

“Right, yeah,” he said, with, what he could only assume, was a ridiculous grin. At least, based off the way his cheeks were aching.

He opened the door and stepped out onto the concourse, nearly coming face-to-face with the waiter from their box as he carried a tray of drinks. His expression was more bewildered than angry and Fitz assumed he didn’t have firsthand knowledge of what’d gone on. However, the waiter had likely already inferred the gist from seeing both of them leaving the toilet at once.

“Shite,” he muttered, stopping short to avoid running into the man headlong.

Jemma’s elbow bumped sharply into his back and she said, “What—“ Then, as she poked her head around Fitz’s shoulder, she saw him. “ _Damn._ ”

She bolted, sprinting down the concourse toward the stairs. Fitz didn’t hesitate long, and raced after her—finally catching her at the coat check. Looking over his shoulder warily, he guiltily told the maitre’d to put them down for a generous tip on the way out. He silently thanked Hunter, promising he’d do so in person as soon as it was possible.

As they hurried out to the curb to catch a ride, he couldn’t help but laugh and shake his head at their escapades. Evidently it was contagious because, as they relaxed into the safety of the cab’s leather seat with their arms linked and their fingers entwined, neither of them could stop their laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple of things:
> 
>  **1\. Disparities with reality**  
>  There are a lot but I thought it worth mentioning that I don't think the Moulin Rouge actually has private boxes. My google-fu was weak and I couldn't find out for sure if that was the case in 1929 but I'm nearly certain they don't—didn't—don't. Whatever. SO...in _this_ alternate universe, they _do._ Easy peasy.
> 
>  **2\. Wicked French lessons**  
>  • When Angélique says, "Ça-va ça-vient," that's a French pun—well, a pun in French. It means, basically, "it comes and it goes." "It" being Hunter, we presume. ;) Look at me, punning in French!  
> • When the waiter says, "Mon Dieu! Fairez une pipe?" That's, "My God! Smoking the pipe?" That's a nice little French idiom for fellatio. You can probably figure out what "inhaling" is code for. ;)


	9. Easy To Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm working on another chapter as of 1-3-16. Please comment if you're new to this fic!
> 
> Twenties playlist to listen to while you read, should you so desire: [Twenties 8-tracks playlist](http://8tracks.com/madalayna/let-s-do-it-let-s-fall-in-love)

Jemma seemed a bit knackered once they arrived back at her flat. She’d taken off her heeled shoes to walk up the numerous flights of stairs that had him panting by the time they’d reached the top. She dropped her shoes just inside the door with a clunk onto the parquet floor.

“I think I’ll have a bath,” she said wearily, tossing her handbag onto a chair and slipping off her coat before she turned toward the door to the toilet.

He looked after her as she walked through the small flat. Once their laughter had died down in the cab, they hadn’t said much. Fitz was still reeling from their mad (though, admittedly, fantastic) indiscretion, and hadn’t known what to say. Jemma’d seemed content to look out at the city lights until the cab pulled up to the curb outside her flat.

Though it hadn’t been uncomfortable, the silence between them was now beginning to fan the small flame of worry that seemed to live in his belly since he’d met her. He tried to resist the urge to ask if everything was alright. He didn’t want it to appear like he was in need of constant reassurance.

At the door, she turned back and said, “Would you—like to join me?” Letting out a small chuckle, looking to the floor almost bashfully, she added, “I’m not sure if I’m up to more than having a wash but…” Allowing her words trail off, she shrugged and then met his eyes again with a smile hinting at the corners of her lips as she waited for his response.

“Yeah. Great. Absolutely,” he said, his words conveying his sentiments more than his tone which came out far more nonchalant than he felt. His heart seemed to be going double time just thinking about the two of them having a bit of a chat again. It was partly nerves and also his fear of bollixing it up, but there was also a heady feeling of excitement.

Her hinted-at smile bloomed fully, and he didn’t wait for her cue to make his way over to her.  He couldn’t deny that Jemma Simmons fascinated him. He’d spent the day with her now and she seemed, at once, rather open—at least when it came to speaking her mind—and yet her feelings were completely mysterious to him.

She started the tub filling up and went to clean her teeth while he stripped out of his things in the corner with his back to her. He couldn’t get used to the odd feeling of exposing himself in the presence of another living, breathing human being—much less, one as incredibly beautiful as Jemma. She seemed not even to understand how flawless she was. He looked at his own body—gaunt, pallid, and decidedly soft with lack of proper exercise—and it made him cringe inwardly. He slipped into the nearly too-warm water in a paltry attempt to hide himself.

Jemma had finished cleaning her teeth and, propping her leg on the toilet lid, she unhooked her garters and rolled her stocking down. He took in a little breath as she removed the silk from her foot and began to repeat the process with the other leg. He wasn’t sure what excited him so much about it but he found the sight highly erotic. Something about the way they cut across her flesh so tightly in contrast to all her other loose items of clothing. He tore his eyes away when she looked over, embarrassed at being caught staring again.

He expected her to get in facing him, the same as they’d been this morning. Instead, she stepped in with her back to him, sat down and then slid against him. She took his hands, that suddenly didn’t seem to know what to do, and pulled his arms around her waist as she settled her head back against his chest. She pressed his hands flat, one to her belly and one against her ribs. His fingers were stiff, too scared to move, and he froze them in place where she’d put them.

“Comfortable?” she asked.

He wasn’t used to anyone being so intimate with him and, though this entire situation was strange to him, he found her affection the least familiar aspect. Thinking back, he realized that Rosalie had never really been affectionate. She’d take his arm if he offered it or sometimes she’d poke his shoulder if there was something she wanted to show him. But, all the times they’d kissed or petted, it’d been her _letting_ him and never her touching _him_. (He was working on blocking the one exception to that from his memory.) Rosalie had never once put her fingers in his hair or stroked his face as Jemma had already done so many times in one day that he’d lost count.

“Mmhm—yeah, you?”

“Lovely,” she said absently. And, though he couldn’t really see her face, except for her gorgeous lips from that angle, he imagined her eyes slipping shut.

“So…” he said softly, not wanting to disturb her but also unable to let an opportunity for them to chat go to waste either. He’d anticipated them getting in a bit of conversation over supper, but it’d been so rushed that he’d scarcely ask her a question and another course would be served to preclude her answering. “You graduate next year, yeah? What were you plannin’ for after? Research? Back to London?”

She didn’t answer for a moment and he nearly thought she’d fallen asleep. Then, she took a small breath and said, “I don’t know, really. My plans aren’t settled quite yet.”

He nodded, then realized she couldn’t see him. “Right. Course. Likely be lookin’ for a position, then. Or—you might teach.” The moment it was out of his mouth, he knew it was wrong.

“Research,” she confirmed immediately. “I’ll look for a research position. Until I can get up some money to begin my own project, that is.”

“Fantastic,” he said, trying to convey his enthusiasm despite the fact that he had no idea what she might choose to research. “That’s great. I, ehm, I’ve done a bit of my own research as well. I think I’d like to find somethin’ more practical though. I mean, after I graduate.”

She hummed a vague acknowledgement but didn’t pick up the thread of conversation.

“Have you thought what you might like to research?” he asked tentatively. He looked down and saw her fingers fluttering lightly over the surface of the water, as if she were deep in thought, formulating an answer.

“I’d like to help people, I think,” she said finally. “I was actually quite fascinated with what you were saying about growing the penicillium in large tanks. Fermenting it in sterile conditions. Somewhat like wine, I presume?”

“I can’t say I know much about the specifics of winemakin' but I do know somethin’ about culturing fungi. I had an idea for how to build the tanks to maximize the amount produced,” he said, his words beginning to speed up in his excitement.

“That would be important for mass supply but I’ve been researching a way to stabilize, and even strengthen, the compound. If only I could determine the chemical structure it would be much easier. However, that would require—“

“X-ray crystallography. Of course,” he finished smoothly. Without even realizing, he’d begun stroking over her belly where his hand rested and when he finally noticed, seeing she hadn’t objected or tried to still his movements, he continued. He grazed over her softness with the tips of his fingers as he spoke. “You know, they’re doin’ a bit of that at Cambridge. I know someone who could likely help with that.”

“Really?” she asked, clearly interested, as she twisted her body around toward him. She was so close, the tips of her nipples skimmed up his chest. Despite already having been together twice that day, he found himself wanting to touch her again. The only thing that stopped him was her earlier suggestion that she didn’t think she’d be up for it.

He tried not to be disappointed and, instead, smiled as he said, “Yeah, he might owe me a favor or two. I helped him out with somethin’.”

“That would be incredible!” she enthused, leaning up to kiss him quickly.

“I’d just have to get him some samples,” he said, delighted that he’d managed to please her. “And I think he could likely get you somethin’ fairly quickly.”

“Really, Fitz? That would be just amazing. I can’t believe it.”

He couldn’t help grinning at her obvious excitement but he rather bashfully said, “S’nothin’, just callin’ in a favor he owes me. Tha’s all.”

“A large favor, is it?” she asked, smirking sweetly.

He rocked his head from side-to-side, and said, “Yeah, a bit.” He took her by the waist and pulled her the little way through the water until she was pressed tightly against him again and he could feel her stiff nipples rubbing wonderfully on his chest. “Now you owe _me_ a favor.” Smiling impishly, he waggled his eyebrows and leaned down for a kiss.

He didn’t know how she’d receive it, so he was prepared to let the kiss be little more than a peck. However, she responded far more favorably than he might’ve hoped. She brushed her peppermint-flavored lips tenderly over his. It was slow and languorous with their mouths fitted together like pieces of a puzzle as he moved his hand up to gently cradle the back of her head. She brought a hand up to slide along his jaw, the other slipped down to his side, her thumb caressing a little circle in the softness just below the jut of his hipbone. Though he tried to keep himself from seeming over-eager, he deepened the kiss, exploring her perfect lips slowly with his, until she sighed quietly.

She parted from him gradually, finally brushing the tip of her nose along his. But then, like an afterthought, she placed a small, soft kiss to the little depression that ran between his nose and mouth. She replaced her lips with the tip of her finger, rubbing once up and down, then brushing lower to lightly graze over his lips.

Looking almost shy, she said, “I’ve never really noticed before.” She touched the same spot over her own lip as she gazed at him. She seemed to study his features for a moment before she said, “It suits you quite well.” She turned around then, leaning her head back against him once more and he thought he heard her murmur, “I like it.”

He surreptitiously touched the spot as she had, running his finger along the concavity and wondering what she found appealing about it. Really, he’d hardly noticed it before himself.

“I think I’ll wash my hair,” she said suddenly, slipping down until she was nearly submerged. He felt the fluttery tendrils of her hair floating through the water, stroking over his thighs and even his cock. He’d grown rather aroused in spite of himself during their kiss, and he was throbbing, half-hard with wanting her again. There was something erotic about it. The feeling of her hair running over him. Not that there was any lack of eroticism at the moment while he stared down at her breasts.

They glistened wetly, just breaking the surface of the water while she lay back to soak her hair. They really were perfect, in his opinion—round and pert, her nipples perfectly proportioned and painted by nature that gorgeous dusky rose. He knew how fantastic they felt in his hands as well—firm and yet yieldingly soft but with that hardened little peak that he could bring out with his fingers or his mouth. He wanted to reach out and touch her—but he held himself back.

Sitting up, Jemma reached to pluck a bottle from a shelf before she poured some shampoo into her hand and began to lather it over her head. It was the same flowery perfume he usually smelled on her hair, sweet with an herbal undertone that he quite liked. He watched her fingers slipping through the dark strands, and it only made him want to touch her more.

Some of the suds slid down onto her neck and, unable to stop himself, he gently ran his fingers through them and down her neck, massaging lightly.

Her head went back slightly, as if she liked the feeling, and he brought his other hand up to run his thumbs down along her spine which was already slippery with foam. She sighed and he took it as his cue to keep going. Though he found it sensual and pleasant to touch her like this, he didn’t really hope for more. He just enjoyed giving her pleasure and the feel of her soft skin but, more than those, the feeling of intimacy it gave him. The sense that she trusted him and desired for him to handle her like this. It made him feel strange, as if his chest were filled with helium and he would soon begin to rise up.

He made little shapes with his thumbs over her muscles, feeling her relax under his efforts. Then he went back up her neck, intending to get more shampoo to ease the slide of his fingers along her skin but, when he slipped into her sudsy hair, it felt so wonderful he began to massage the lather through. She groaned with pleasure, leaning into his hold as he began to circle his fingertips over her scalp, caressing lightly, and feeling the soft, loose locks of hair sliding under his palms. He’d never really dreamed of doing such a thing and he was startled at how much he liked it.

Wanting only to share the closeness he was experiencing with her in some way, hoping she felt the same, he asked, “Does that feel alright?”

He felt her body go almost rigid at his words.

It was as if they were under a spell and, by speaking, he’d instantly broken it. The bubble of their intimacy was popped just that suddenly, and like the tiny bubbles coating his fingers, their moment had a limited lifespan that he’d inadvertently cut short with his need to prattle on.

She inhaled so sharply, it was almost a sigh, and said, “Yes, that was lovely. I’m just—I think I’ll get out now.”

“Oh. Okay,” he said, extricating his fingers carefully.

She slipped down in the water again, scrubbing at her hair to get the shampoo out, and he hardly had a moment to wonder what he might’ve done before she’d gotten out, wrapped herself in a towel and left the room.

Trying to delay, worried he’d done something horribly foolish, he took a bit of extra time, washing his own hair, cleaning his teeth and giving himself reproachful looks in the mirror before he finally went out to the other room.

He was tugging at the waistband of his pants, ready to flick off the light in the toilet when he stopped short. Jemma was laying on her side on the big bed, reading a book and wearing a pale pink chemise. It just covered the tops of her thighs and left her cleavage exposed by a deep V at the neck. Somehow, it was even more tantalizing than seeing her bare. He mentally gritted his teeth, preparing himself to be so close to her yet knowing she’d already said she was too tired for anything more. He’d been a bit tired himself until he’d seen her like that.

He climbed into bed and rolled to his back, waiting for he didn’t know what after the fiasco he’d wrought in the bath. She put her book aside and turned off the lamp. He wasn’t sure whether that was a good thing or a bad thing. Then he felt her arm come around him, her hand sliding over his belly as she lay her head against his shoulder. He felt somewhat relieved, thinking that he’d perhaps overreacted to her abrupt retreat from their intimacy.

However, it nagged, and he opened his mouth to ask her what he’d done, “Jem—“

Then, he felt her soft lips against his chest, the coolness of her damp hair sliding over his arm, and her hand running down until her fingers ran little furrows into the dense hair over his cock.

He sucked in a breath and said, “I thought you weren’t up for, ehm, anything?”

She took hold and began to caress him. He was almost ashamed of how quickly he hardened under her fingers. “Seems _you_ are. What’s wrong? I’m not allowed to change my mind?” she said playfully as she stroked him firmly, seeming quite intent. Soon, he was throbbing and near desperate to thrust into her hand.

“Ehm, you definitely can. Just—please, slow down,” he said, taking her wrist to still her brisk handling. She let him go abruptly and he turned toward her, sensing something was definitely wrong but having no clue what it might be. “Is everythin’ alright, Jemma?” It was all he could think to ask.

There was only one small lamp that she’d left on in the farthest part of the large room. In the dimness, he couldn’t make her out well but he could certainly see how she was nodding far too quickly. It was less than reassuring.

“We don’t have to,” he said, worried she thought he expected something from her.

“No,” she said more strongly than he’d expected. “I want to.” Her tone and words were equally firm.

“Are you really sure?” What Fitz didn’t know about women could fill many volumes, but he still felt something was off.

She sighed heavily and said, “I’m not used to owing anyone a favor when it comes to my work.”

Fitz was immediately torn between doubting her, because the strange shift had happened so long after that bit of conversation, and feeling horrible his teasing might’ve made her think he expected something in return for his offer. In the end, politeness won out. “No! Jemma, I was only jokin’. I never expected you to return an _actual_ favor. That was…” He cast about for some way to convince her that there was no presumption in his silly bantering.

She interrupted his mental outlining by chuckling lightly before she said, “Alright. I believe you. So, now you’ll know I’m completely sincere when I do this—“ She slipped her arm around his waist and pressed her silky mouth to his. Her tongue peeked between her lips and traced over his in ways meant to tease and tantalize. Then she swept into his mouth, brushing his tongue with hers, and his belly tightened with anticipation.

He wasn’t sure that whatever was bothering her was really resolved or not, but he felt he had no choice but to take her at her word. And the way she was kissing him left him in little doubt of her sincerity on _that_ account.

He suspected that she was even more complicated than he knew, and he already thought he had an inkling that her depths were considerable. He knew that it would take time as well as his keen attention to learn those profundities but, for now, he felt that all he could do was try to please her in everything she asked of him.

He brought his arms around her, letting his senses be filled with nothing but her. The sweet sound of her little gasps and moans as he kissed her, the flowery scent of her hair in his nose, the smooth skin of her neck under his fingertips, the delicious taste of her lips on the tip of his tongue. She was utterly dazzling, like a light so brilliant he might be blinded by her. He wanted nothing more than to be with her forever.

She let him roll her onto her back and with his mouth buried in her neck, he soon had one thin strap of her chemise off her shoulder so he could fondle her naked breast. He liked the way it felt differently when she was laying, more firm, pliant and shaped to fill his hand than when she was upright. Though he liked that as well, the weight of them and—God—how they’d moved in the bath that morning.

He kissed his way down to her nipple, only just seeing the online of it in the dim light before he took it in his lips, rolling his tongue against it, circling around and finally drawing it into his mouth sharply. There was something completely satisfying about this that he didn’t question. He pinched her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, shaping it to better draw it in deeper. She arched her back moaning—this, and her pleased hums and occasional gasps told him he wasn’t too rough. He let go in favor of lightly teasing the tender underside with the sharp edges of his teeth. He was already shaking, in a fever of suspense, but he wanted to give her as much pleasure as he had earlier.

He tugged down the other thin strap so he could switch to the other breast when he saw how they were cutting into her arms deeply. He was torn between freeing her and wanting to run his hands over the indented flesh. He realized she was effectively trapped, her arms stuck at her sides until he either moved the straps off or back up. He was a bit stunned by the intense bolt of heat that went straight to his cock at the idea. His face grew warm with shame and he quickly pulled the straps off her arms, dragging the thin silk down her body and tossing it away. He stripped slightly awkwardly out of his pants and sent them flying in the same direction.

He ran his hands up her body, over her belly, between her breasts, up to cup her shoulder as he pressed against the length of her. Then, he brought his mouth over hers, relishing the feel of her lithe body beneath him. He ran his hand down her arm, taking her by the wrist and bringing it up just over her head. He held it for a moment and then slid his hand down her arm again. Caressing her soft flesh with his fingertips as he went, he paused over the hollow of her elbow and under her arm where he felt the curve of her muscle beneath the skin. Then he went lower, taking her breast in his hand again, rubbing over her nipple with his calloused thumb and then pinching it lightly. Her hips rocked up to meet his thigh and he was surprised to feel her already wet and wanting.

He brought his hand down to touch her, his palm running over her curls as he slipped his fingers into her wetness. She bucked her hips against him when he went over the hot, tense knot of flesh just inside. Then, he slid lower, pressing his fingers into her. It felt strange still, slightly intimidating and mysterious, as if he had to accept that there were things too complex to ever understand and he would always just be muddling through.

He used his thumb to graze over her spot, and it seemed she couldn’t keep still, her hips moving against him, even as he tried to stroke how she seemed to like.

“Jemma,” he whispered after he’d kissed her cheekbone. “Hold still.” He had a thought then that made his face burn with shame again. But he wondered now if she really would find it so scandalous. After her behavior earlier, he wasn’t so sure she would in the end. If she did find it offensive, he might play it off as a joke afterward.

She was still writhing and, very quietly, he whispered, “Do I have to hold you down?” But he was instantly ashamed again as his cock throbbed and ached. He could feel it leaking as he thrust it over her pubic bone through her soft hair.

She didn’t answer, only whimpered and brought her legs around him, locking them over the backs of his thighs when he managed another strong stroke with his thumb over that tight little knot. She seemed to be warring between meeting his fingers as they plunged into her and trying to get him to that place which seemed to be her primary source of pleasure. He thought of having it between his lips again and he shivered.

He couldn’t bring himself to repeat his suggestion. His face was still hot from voicing even a hint of his desires. He only wanted to please her, certainly not frighten her. But at the same time, he knew there was something indefinable about the idea that excited him deeply, and that was the cause of his shame. He felt perverse and selfish over the idea of indulging in it.

He pushed himself downward, feeling her bare feet slide up over his arse as she whined some vague complaint. Her fingers were in his hair, and he thought he felt her resisting the urge to use her grip to pull him back up. He chuckled to himself and kissed the point of each nipple. Pushing himself lower, he stroked his thumb over her hipbone as he kissed her soft belly and painted little equations across her skin with the tip of his tongue. Her fingers were running through his hair faster and faster as her pelvis tried to rock against him, but he had her effectively pinned by his body weight. He let loose a pleased sigh at the idea of her surrendering in such a way so he could tease and inflame her to ever greater heights of anticipation and pleasure.

He dragged his cheek over the tender skin of her belly, his light stubble making her shiver, as he moved down between her legs. He could smell her sharp, heady scent as he kissed the inside of her thigh, sucking the flesh and nipping lightly. Her body twitched and jumped in expectation as he moved lower. He splayed his fingers under her bum, teasing at the seam of her thigh and the edge of her wet lips with his thumb.

He ran his tongue up along her opening, tasting the flavor of her before he pulled the tense bundle at the top between his lips. She writhed and moaned and he immediately stopped. Instead, he circled around, teasing above it and just below as her fingers tightened in his hair again. She made noises of almost pain as he used the tip of his tongue to trace just inside her inner lips. She brought her foot up onto his back, and it slid up and down agitatedly, urging him on. He flicked over the little knot, easing his fingers back inside to stroke within her. She mewled, and quivered around his fingers as he drew his flattened tongue up over the length of her opening, giving a little extra pressure where she wanted it.

“Please,” she begged, pushing her hips toward him. He shuddered in excitement, knowing she was already getting close.

“Please?” he asked, feeling slightly ashamed but wanting to draw it out just a bit longer.

“Please, please, please,” she groaned out in rapid succession. He realized that he didn’t really want her to plead, what he actually wanted was for her to say his name. To hear that he’d done this to her, or most importantly, he wanted her to acknowledge it.

“Please, who?” he asked, forcing himself to say it loudly enough that she could hear even though his cheeks grew warm again.

“Fiiiiitz,” she moaned, her fingers tightening painfully in his hair now as he stroked a particularly sensitive spot inside. “Please, Fitz!”

He sucked the tense flesh into his mouth but nearly released her when her hips bucked up sharply and she cried out, a startlingly loud sound in the stillness of the flat. Then, her back was arching off the bed and he felt her toes digging into his back. He managed to continue, fluttering his tongue against her throbbing flesh as he felt her pulsing around his fingers and against his tongue. She was nearly breathless once she finally relaxed, panting and gasping, as she petted his hair which was quite soothing after she’d tugged it until his scalp burned a bit.

He flicked against her with his tongue one last time and felt her whole body tremble. Crawling back up her heated body, he laid his head on her chest, content to wait until she was recovered. Happily, her breathing was already returning to normal.

He placed a kiss on her chest and then ran his tongue along her collarbone. He was fascinated with every part of her. He found that he couldn’t get enough of her—looking, touching, tasting, smelling. Everything, from those most secret places that she’s allowed him, down to even wishing he could explore her plump toes and the particular patterns of her freckles.

He took an earlobe between his lips and suckled it. He felt more than heard her sigh in his arms, then she drew her legs up around his waist again, pressing him between them. He smelled the sweet perfume of her hair and buried his nose in it, inhaling deeply. She arched against him, pressing her breasts into his chest, and he thought he heard her murmuring something. When he listened closely, he heard her say, “I want you, Fitz.”

Somehow, he felt there was a deeper meaning to her words. He wanted it to be more than just desiring the physical embodiment of the feelings he felt so strongly already. He thought perhaps she was awakening to those feelings herself. And, with her words, she took possession of him. If he wasn’t already enraptured, she would’ve made him completely hers in that instant. As it was, he would do anything she asked of him then, no matter how nervous or reticent he felt over it. He knew he belonged to her in every way.

He lined his hips up with hers, pressing his aching cock against her center. “Me?” he questioned, looking for confirmation of his appraisal.

“Yes,” she gasped out, writhing beneath him, attempting to move their bodies together.

“Just me?” he ventured softly, stroking along her wet heat with his shaft.

“God, yes,” she moaned, trying to angle her hips so he might slide inside.

He wanted to say more but then he remembered: it was too soon yet, even though he still felt closer to Jemma than he ever had to Rosalie, or anyone else for that matter. He wanted to speak of his feelings but he also wanted her to do the same. He feared that, even if she felt it too, she might be afraid to say so when it really hadn’t been reasonably long enough to decide. But he didn’t need to decide, his heart had made the choice for him, and he knew he loved her more than science or engineering—more than anyone or anything.

He rose to his elbows, then angled himself at her entrance, bending down to place a kiss to her full lips. He ran his thumb over her satiny brow as his lips played against hers. Ever so gently, he touched the tip of his finger to her feathery eyelashes. She surged up, putting her arms around his back and adding heat to their kiss. She rolled her hips and he slid easily into her tight opening, rocking into her and making her gasp. He tried to be slow and gentle, worried she might be tender after their vigorous activities earlier.

In the moonlight streaming through the large windows, he saw the luminous planes of her face, the roundness of her mouth and cheek, but the look of bliss on her features suddenly had him burning up with desire. Her lips were parted and her head angled back, gently falling from side to side as he placed little kisses over her lovely face while he worked in and out of her. The tension had his belly drawn taut. It was almost too much now and he didn’t know how long he could wait.

She was kissing his face—his cheeks, his chin, his jaw—and he could feel her little tongue coming out to lick his skin softly.

“Harder,” she whispered by his ear.

He didn’t know if he could last but he did what she asked, thrusting his hips forward and feeling her fingers digging into his back almost painfully.

“Harder,” she said again, sounding as on edge as he felt.

He tried again to do as requested but it seemed a geometry problem since the diminishing width between her legs definitely didn’t match the width of his hips. On the next withdrawal, he shifted his leg over hers, bringing his knee down along her hip and found he could fill her completely now. But the tension in his belly was nearly at its peak, like fingers or roots, it grew upward right from his cock. It crept up his spine, right through the core of him, and at any moment he wouldn’t be able to hold back the pressure as it swelled.

Trying to hang on a bit longer, he brought his hand down between them to touch her, but she closed her fingers over his wrist, stopping him.

Again, she harshly whispered, “Harder.” Then, she seemingly thought to add, “Fitz.” But he was a little afraid of hurting her. 

Running her hand up his leg where it rested beside her hip, she went along his thigh. Continuing upward, she lightly stroked over his arse before hastily squeezing his cheek. It made him gasp but it also spurred him on, much to his surprise, causing him to jerk his pelvis forward slamming into her harder than before. He held onto her hip, gripping tightly, and felt the tension coil just a bit tighter as he bucked his hips hard into her again. Instantly, she began moaning even louder than before. He shifted her hip, looking for the best angle as he gritted his teeth, trying to hold off just a bit more. He could hear their flesh clapping together loudly with each drive of his hips in the quiet room until, finally, she was arching against him rigidly and crying out his name.

At the sound of his name called out in ecstasy, nearly unbearable pleasure shot through him. He throbbed and pulsed with it, and he only vaguely heard himself shouting her name. As he came back to his senses, his throat felt dry and he was shivering either from the cool air on his sweat-dampened skin or from the aftermath of his release, he didn’t know which. He felt strangely hollow as he separated himself from her with a little reflexive gasp from each of them.

He went down on his side, pulling her against him almost possessively. He had to bite his tongue against spilling his feelings in one long ramble when he saw the moonlight glinting in her eyes. Instead, he fitted her against his chest, hiding her face from him, and breathed in her delicate scent. He stroked his fingers down her arm lightly, his eyelids heavy and wanting to close. He tried to fight it, wanting to savor the pleasant afterglow a bit longer, but he felt them slipping shut against his will. But before he drifted to sleep, he had the sudden thought that if he loved her this much after one day, it seemed likely that a month or a year might just kill him. Could someone die from loving too much?

* * *

Memorizingthedigitsofpi made this gorgeous manip for me! She rocks!


	10. Come Along With Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this chapter was beginning to get too long. So sorry but no smut this time. Next time, I promise. I'm already working on it!

Fitz woke to the sound of footsteps. Blearily, he recognized the tap of hard-soled shoes on wood floors. When he opened his eyes, he was momentarily blinded but, then, through the haze of light he saw Jemma there, looking for something on her dresser. Clearly still preparing for the day, already she was wearing yellow, and Fitz thought she was brighter than the sunlight streaming in through the enormous windows that took up nearly the entire wall of the flat.

“Good morning,” she said, seeing that he was awake in the mirror on the dresser top and meeting his eyes with her reflected ones. She turned, placing a pin in the back of her hair as she peered at him. “Sleep well?”

Not yet sure he could form words, he nodded, stretching a bit as he watched her finish arranging her hair. 

“Goin’ somewhere?” he questioned, once he'd licked some moisture back to his dry lips.

She gave her hair one final pat and turned back to face him. “We both are,” she chirped, well on the wrong side of noon for so much blatant cheerfulness as far as Fitz was concerned. “We’re going to Daisy’s luncheon, if you recall?”

“Oh, right.” He tried to hide his disappointment. He’d forgotten and had actually been looking forward to spending the morning with Jemma. Not to mention, he was still a bit intimidated by Daisy and her cheeky gibes at his expense, truth be told. He couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d been trying to send him the message that his lack of resources was a significant issue.

“Don’t sound so enthusiastic,” Jemma said, grinning jovially. Then she plucked a hat from a velvet armchair that’s sole purpose for existence seemed to be holding hats. She put the hat on, seemed to test her reflection, and then took it off again before turning back to face him. “I’ve made some tea and toast so you won’t be monstrously starved by the time we eat, but it’s rather late and we should be getting on soon.”

“Yes. Course,” he agreed. Throwing back the covers, he climbed out of bed without a stitch. He realized he felt far less of the nervous discomfort he'd experienced the previous day than he would've thought.

However, he quickly sensed Jemma’s eyes on him, though he kept his own firmly on the floor. Suddenly feeling exceedingly self-conscious over her scrutiny, he still tried not to rush. Hoping to appear casual as he headed toward the toilet through the full sweep of bright golden light streaming into the room. Reaching the safety of the doorway, he darted a glance back her way and saw that she was, in fact, watching his progress with interest. Still, it seemed silly to try and hide at this stage. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t already seen all there was to see. Nevertheless, his face was hot with a full blush to the roots of his hair.

Quickly working on grooming himself, he dressed in his second best suit. He checked his pocket watch as he fixed the end of the chain, seeing it was already past eleven o’clock before he slipped the keepsake of his dad carefully into his watch pocket.

Once he’d finished arranging his hair into something reasonable, he came out to find Jemma reading a journal and drinking her tea. She poured him a cup, adding two sugars just how he preferred. And even though she’d learned how he took his tea only the day before, for some reason, he was oddly touched that she remembered. Grinning happily all the while, he drank his tea and ate toast slathered with fresh butter and delicious strawberry jam. 

As he wiped his mouth, Jemma got up, putting on the yellow hat she’d tried earlier and adding a light coat over the top of her ensemble. 

“You ready?” she asked and he nodded, following her as she gathered her handbag by the door and went out. 

He was surprised when she pulled her key from her bag and then gave it to him to lock up her flat. For some reason, it gave him that unfamiliar sense of closeness again, making his stomach flip-flop with, not his usual nerves, but something deeper. 

“It’s not far,” she told him as they descended the numerous flights of stairs at a fair clip. “We can walk there in only a few minutes.”

He hummed his agreement, walking quickly to keep up with her. He pondered in his head what they might talk about as they walked, trying to come up with something scientific to speak with her about. 

Exiting Jemma’s building, the day outside was unbelievably gorgeous. With not a single cloud in the deep cerulean sky, the sun was raining comforting warmth down on his face and it had him momentarily closing his eyes to savor the feeling. There was also a pleasant, if cool, breeze taking away the usual city smells that he found far less appealing than even London, much to his delight.

Following Jemma’s lead, he hurried along after her, trying to get his bearings in the unfamiliar neighborhood as he continued to think on what he might say to capture her interest.

On the street, they passed artists and various vendors selling their goods from stalls. Fitz had trouble keeping up with Jemma’s pace as he scanned the portraits and landscapes of the artist which were, no doubt, as precious to them as his own engineering designs were to him. He felt a touch of sympathy for them as they eyed him eagerly to gauge his interest in their wares. 

At the next corner, a bevy of five young girls with braids besieged them, holding up small posies for sale. 

Though he didn’t speak much French, his brain tried to make sense of it as he was inundated by loud cries from all of them attempting to convince him to buy their flowers. 

Two girls who looked nearly identical and he decided must be sisters, informed him,  “Un centime, s'il vous plaît!” and “Seulement un centime!” One centime for a posey, he easily grasped.

This was followed by a tiny blond girl who held her posey high over her head and shouted, “Voyez comment belle!” See how beautiful, he mentally translated.

Another tall, rail-thin girl with braids down to her waist, simply pleaded, “S’il vous plait, monsieur.” Please.

Jemma rolled her eyes and tried to pull him along by his sleeve as the girls surrounded and bombarded him mercilessly. 

Then, one girl, a bit older than the rest, with her long, dark braids pulled close around her face, looked up at him with her doe-eyes and said, “Pour votre jolie dame, monsieur?” Did he want one for his lovely lady, she was asking.

“We’ll be late,” Jemma prompted him from just outside the circle of girls—the little imps obviously knew their target audience. Feeling rather helplessly cornered, he dug in his pocket and pulled out a five centime piece. It was more than they were asking but he gave it to the girl, who then tried to give him five posies from her basket. He shook his head, taking just one which he then handed to Jemma. Her look of slight exasperation broke instantly as she took the flowers. The exquisite day suddenly seemed to pale in contrast to the glow of her smile. 

Fitz grinned down at the girl, who smirked a bit too knowingly before heading back to her cart. 

Jemma’s expression, when he looked back to her, seemed inexplicably somewhat more guarded, almost self-conscious, as she sniffed the posey and tucked it into the belt at her waist. However, she very graciously smiled and said, “Thank you, Fitz.”

To his pleasure, she took his arm this time, walking at a slightly slower pace as she said, “It’s just another few blocks.” Then, with a mildly teasing tone, she said, "You quite overpaid, you know?”

He shrugged. “I know. It is a depression goin’ on, though. I can’t help feelin’ quite bad for them. They should be in school, not sellin’ flowers. I can’t imagine havin’ a child who wasn’t even able to have that simple opportunity. Y’know, that was all I cared about when I was that age—learnin’ and buildin’ things. I can’t picture what my life would’ve been without that. Nothin’ I’d really want, I don’t think.”

“And that’s something you imagine? In the future, I mean?” she asked, and Fitz could tell from the wavering of her voice—which was so unlike her usual confident speech—that there was more to the question than he understood. Immediately, he knew he needed to approach his answer with care. 

“Imagine what?” he asked, trying to sound untroubled, if not outright apathetic, because he didn’t yet know what tone to affect for the best opportunity to gain her approval.

“Children?” she questioned, but there was something wrong in her tone now. Some deep anxiety that belied her attempt at seemingly casual conversation. 

It made alarm bells go off inside his head. This felt like some sort of test and, if he answered incorrectly, somehow he knew that it might bring this new and perfect thing they had to a screeching halt. On the other hand, he was filled with a sudden desperate hope. Perhaps she was asking because she was already attempting to picture their eventual future together? Still, her tone was incongruous and he opted for caution again.

“I, ehm, I dunno. I hadn’t thought. Why d’you ask?” he said, surprised by how easily the lie slipped out. He trusted it would be neutral enough no matter her actual meaning. Now, he was just left to fervently hope that she would give him something more to go on. Something to let him know what she was thinking and how he should answer.

Jemma sighed. “Just—“ She paused, seemingly in thought—perhaps considering her answer or possibly even assessing him—before she said, “My work is very important to me. I’ve always wanted to be, well, _free_ for grander contributions I might make to the world.”

It hit him almost instantly what she was really saying. “You mean, greater than children?” he clarified, wishing he would be wrong for once in his life. 

Immediately, she seemed wary, as if she expected him to make some sort of protest. Though she didn’t reply and seemed to be studying him for his reaction, Fitz found that her response wasn’t necessary. He easily read the answer in her eyes. They suddenly seemed like two dark pools of apprehension.

Running his hand over the back of his neck, he said, “Yeah, that’s me, as well. I mean, I think I have far more to bring to the world through science than I do through, y’know, ehm—reproduction.” 

Jemma appeared skeptical. “Really?” she questioned, her brows drawn down in disbelief.

“Course,” he agreed. “Kids, they make a lot of messes. Get into things, don't they?” He nodded his head once, confirming his own faux-assessment, and then bit down painfully on the inside of his cheek.

“It’s just that they take so much time,” Jemma said, now with the tone of someone who thinks they’ve found a confidant. “Time I could be doing my research. They are people, after all, and you can’t very well get around that fact. They have their own needs and wants and that’s just—not for me. My work is too important,” she finished with a rigid finality. She looked up at him and, for the first time since he’d met her, he suddenly saw the expectant look of her waiting for _his_ approval.

Fitz felt like someone had taken his insides and given them a good, hard shake. It was apparent that she’d thought about this more than a little bit and, clearly, had made up her mind already. His instinct to lie had been spur of the moment, based on his immediate fear of losing her favor. But his momentary fear was gone and the next thing he said was calculated.

He patted her hand in the crook of his arm and, swallowing past the tightness in his throat, said, “Yes, I mean, obviously. You’ve far too much to offer the scientific community to go wastin’ time on anythin’ that’s not important to you.”

Jemma flashed him a beatific smile as she urged him to turn at the next corner and somehow he managed to tack a false-feeling return smile onto his face. But, inside, Fitz was reeling. Not only had he just outright lied and said he didn’t want children, he thought maybe he could mean it—for her. He’d always imagined himself with a family one day—children to teach and play with, raise properly to be upstanding, useful members of society. He still wanted it. But now he might be adding it to the growing list of things he was willing to abandon to be with her. 

“Bloody hell,” Jemma said, just after she'd pointed him to a very fashionable-looking building.

He gave her a bewildered look. 

“I’ve forgotten to think what we’ll tell Daisy’s parents,” she said, tapping her handbag against her opposite palm. 

“Can’t we say that—“ He began but, at his words, Jemma’s expression went from thoughtful to impatient in an instant. “Well, that’s to say—I mean, ehm,“ he cleared his throat but went on in a sudden fluster as her expression continued to evolve toward something more like irked, “that we’re, ehm, y’know, steppin’—no! Ehm, what about courtin’?” By this point, she looked almost scandalized. Which seemed quite strange to Fitz considering what they were _actually_ doing together. 

“What? No!” she cried before looking about, up and down the sidewalk, as if for eavesdroppers. “Daisy’s father knows _my_ father,” she said, her voice very tense. “I don’t think that’s a very good idea, him knowing about us, do you?”

He shook his head vigorously. “Right. Sorry.” He closed his eyes, shaking his head again at his own thoughtlessness. “Course. I’m sorry, Jemma, I don’t know what I was thinkin’,” he blathered, running nervous fingers through his hair, then realizing what he was doing to it and immediately trying to get the corkscrews back down again. 

Jemma looked relieved then and even smoothed several of his curls back to order as she looked off contemplatively. “We’ll just say you’re my lab partner,” she said finally. “That’ll work well enough.”

Fitz took a deep breath, letting it back out with an audible sigh. “Right.”

* * *

“Jemma!” Welcome back to the old place,” Daisy squealed as she opened the door for them. Immediately, she embraced Jemma tightly, whispering, “You made it. Thank _god_!” 

And, much to Fitz’s apparent shock, Daisy abandoned Jemma to crush him into a quick hug before slapping him on the shoulder hard enough to make him wince. “How’s it goin’, Fitzy?”

“Ehm, fine…” he said, his eyes darting toward Jemma as if he were looking for help. 

“Well, come on in, then,” Daisy said, gesturing them inside with a backward wave as she stepped away from the door. 

Immediately, Jemma heard the low chatter of quite a few voices and she could see one or two unfamiliar faces milling back and forth just beyond the foyer archway. It seemed like rather more people than she’d been expecting. 

“I thought it was just going to be your mum and dad,” Jemma said in a low voice as she took off her coat and handed it to Daisy along with her hat. 

“Well,” Daisy said with a shamefaced grin. “It was—but then I wanted Antoine to come and he decided to invite some guys from the club and they wanted to bring their girls…” She shrugged helplessly. “It just kinda happened. Mom and Dad’ll be really happy to see you though. You know how they always thought you were keeping me out of trouble.” She gave her a wink, which Jemma returned with the addition of a smirk. 

When she looked over at Fitz, he was watching her uneasily but Jemma immediately assumed he was nervous over what she’d told him about her father and Mr. Coulson. 

Daisy hurried off to put Jemma’s coat and hat in the spare room they'd always used during parties.

With a gesture over her shoulder toward the main lounge, Jemma stepped in toward Fitz and whispered, “There’s nothing to worry over. Mr. Coulson will never guess. Don’t let it trouble you, Fitz. This should be fun, alright?” 

He pressed his lips into a thin smile and nodded. 

Still seeing the worry in his tense features, Jemma darted a glance back toward the lounge and, seeing no one, she slid her hand along Fitz’s cheek and leaned in to give him a quick kiss on the lips. But when she began to move away, he chased her lips until he’d captured them again, drawing hotly against her mouth as his fingers caught the back of her neck. 

For a moment, as he deepened the kiss even further—far more than she’d intended—she felt a startling thrill of heat spread from between her legs at the notion of Daisy’s parents coming around the corner and catching them. Relaxing into his oddly rigid embrace, she let him slide his tongue into her mouth and found herself grasping him around the neck a bit desperately as his other hand clutched tightly at her waist. 

But then Jemma heard a noise that made her start back abruptly, pulling away from Fitz completely as she broke their kiss. It left him wide-eyed and looking slightly unsettled again. Jemma immediately realized it was only Daisy coming back down the hall from the bedrooms with a knowing smirk on her lips. “You two better watch it,” she said in a hushed singsong. 

Jemma traced the line of her lip color to check that it wasn’t smeared, then she quickly inspected a somewhat frazzled-looking Fitz for smudges and, finding none, she pulled him along by the sleeve to the lounge.

“Oh, there she _is_ ,” Mr. Coulson said the instant he saw her enter the room. “Jemma!”

Though Jemma had only seen Daisy’s affable father a handful of times over the last year, his friendly and rather empathetic nature seemed to breed a familiarity that she found quite pleasant and almost comforting. It reminded her of her own father a good deal. Like hers, Mr. Coulson believed his daughter could do anything she set her mind to. Whether Daisy would set her mind to anything was yet to be seen, however. Jemma wasn’t certain what Coulson did for a living and she’d thought it too crass to ask him after she’d already begun living with his daughter. Daisy only said that he worked for the government which certainly explained how her father knew him.

Though it felt just slightly odd, Jemma realized she didn’t have any true objection to the relaxed informality of her American friends as Mr. Coulson held his arms out to her. It was almost soothing, as if her standing with them were a known quantity—unlike most relationships she had. She found herself engulfed in his arms for a moment which was soon followed by a brief, more decorous embrace with his wife, Melinda. 

“It’s good to see you,” Melinda said with a small reserved smile. 

Turning and gesturing toward Fitz, Jemma said, “This is a friend of mine. My lab partner, Mr. Leopold Fitz. This is Daisy’s father, Mr. Phillip Coulson, and her mother, Mrs. Melinda May Coulson.”

“Nice to meet you,” Coulson said, stepping in to pump Fitz’s hand vigorously. “Any friend of Jemma’s, ya know.”

Fitz nodded, smiling tightly. “Thanks. Very good to meet you as well.”

Melinda held her hand out and Fitz shook it gently. “Good to meet you. Leo, is it?”

Fitz’s face drew down in distaste but before he could speak, Jemma said, “He prefers to be called Fitz, actually.”

“Fitz,” Melinda said with another small, unreadable smile. Jemma almost thought it looked like a smirk, momentarily, then she decided it’d only been her imagination. Reading Melinda’s expressions was far more art than science and even Daisy evidently had a difficult time reading them completely accurately. 

Jemma didn’t have much time to contemplate as Daisy came and swept her away ostensibly to get a drink and meet some of the people from the club that she didn’t already know, leaving Fitz to speak to Mr. and Mrs. Coulson unattended. 

As they passed through the crowd, Daisy quickly introduced her to the other members of Trip's band. So fast were the introductions, that the names nearly blended together for Jemma: Mack, Linc, Joey and Mike. Jemma barely caught the names of their lady friends: Izzy, Alisha and Akela. They also had a singer—a statuesque woman named Barbara, though she insisted on being called Bobbi. She and Joey both seemed to be unattached from what Jemma gathered. Daisy also introduced her to the club’s manager, Mr. Koenig, who was also alone. 

Daisy dragged her though all the introductions, barely giving her any time for conversation, and then off to the wet bar on the far side of the room to get a drink.

“So, Jemma,” Daisy said as she mixed two martinis for them. “I told my parents about Trip. I told them we’re in love and everything. That’s why I wanted you to come. I was afraid they were gonna kill me.”

Jemma was stunned at the revelation. “But…I thought you called him Antoine,” she said dazedly, apropos of nothing. She could hardly believe that her man-crazy former flatmate was admitting to being in love. 

Daisy chuckled. “Only because it bugs him. He likes Trip. Anyway, they didn’t kill me. They just told me that if I didn’t want to finish my literature degree then I had to figure out what I _actually_ wanted to do before they’d give their blessing. But, that was basically it.” She poured out their martinis from the shaker and handed one to Jemma.

“I thought you and Trip only met a few weeks ago?” Jemma tried again to make sense of the news her friend was telling her. 

Daisy took a large drink of her martini and began to nod, even before she’d finished swallowing. “Yeah, we did. It’s just one of those things, ya know?” When Jemma didn't reply she added, "Love?"

Jemma peered over at Fitz across the small crowd of people where he was still speaking with Daisy’s parents. “I _don’t_ know,” she said finally, taking a small swallow of her drink.

When she looked back to her friend, Daisy was grinning. “You like this one though, don’t you?”

Glancing over again, Jemma felt that swell of feeling inside her chest and, unbidden, it slipped out, “Yes, I do.” Realizing that she was wearing a daft half-smile, she tried to shake the unwelcome feelings off. “I mean, at least, I can actually speak to him on a scientific level. Unlike any other man I’ve ever met.”

She was still grinning as Jemma hesitantly met her eyes again. Then Daisy began to waggle her eyebrows suggestively. “He’s not bad though, right? I mean, in the sa—“

“Daisy!” Jemma cried, interrupting her friend as she looked around to see if anyone was close enough to overhear. “That’s not a good topic of conversation just now.” She sighed, releasing her sudden tension at Daisy’s unexpected gossipy questioning. She took another sip of her martini, then whispered conspiratorially, “But, yes. It’s excellent, actually.” She couldn’t help the impish smirk that seemed to form on her lips. She glanced back toward Fitz just as his gaze shifted her way and a little smile settled on his lips as well. “Really, quite fantastic,” she said under her breath.

“Well, I’ll be,” Daisy said, looking over at Fitz herself. “You just never can tell from the look of them, can you?”

“You really can’t,” Jemma agreed, taking another sip of her drink.

* * *

Fitz was surprised when Jemma left him to chat with Daisy’s parents on his own. He tried to think of it as a sign of trust, rather than being abandoned to the wolves. 

“So you’re Jemma’s young man?” Mr. Coulson asked as soon as Jemma was out of earshot. 

Fitz felt for a moment like he’d been slapped. It wasn’t a question he’d expected after Jemma had so clearly labeled him as only a friend. At the very least, Fitz had to credit Coulson for not pulling any punches. “Er…I–I’m not—well, I mean to say, ehm—“ Fitz stared at the older man stupidly for a beat before he sucked in a breath and said, “I s’pose I should say that I’d _like_ to be.” Mr. Coulson gave him a slightly surprised look but then nodded in understanding. Not sure if he would dash his own hopes or in some inadvertent way help his cause, Fitz continued, “But I’m not really sure if that’s quite in the realm of possibility, in any case. We can speak about science, on and on, but I’m no one of consequence—not like she is. I’m quite certain that whomever Jemma marries will have to be quite special, just as she is.” Though he’d tried to be delicate, he still grimaced very slightly at his own words, wondering if the Coulson’s had guessed his true meaning. They were American after all, he thought it likely they had a very tenuous understating of how improbable it would be for him to marry someone in Jemma’s situation in life.

Coulson seemed to give him a somewhat more appraising look than previously. “What’s your field, son?”

“Engineerin’,” he said. “I’ve studied the lot, really, but I dabbled a bit too much in my first year or so and I don’t have my PhD just yet. I’m s’posed to go to Queen Mary’s next term to study aeronautical engineerin’—finally get my PhD nailed down.”

“You want to build planes?” Mrs. Coulson asked quietly.

He wasn’t sure why but Mrs. Coulson made him just slightly nervous. “Ehm, not exactly. I’m interested in rockets, mostly. Designin’ planes is a bit easy by comparison. I mean, we’re just beginnin’ to figure out how travelin’ to space might be different. There’s much more to it. You need to be a physicist as well as an engineer, really. Designin’ planes isn’t all that challenin’ for my particular skill set, is the thing.”

“Hmph,” Mrs. Coulson sniffed in reply. 

Mr. Coulson grinned at Fitz and, giving him a little shove in the shoulder, said, “Mel is a pilot. You won’t win any points with her by saying anything like that.”

“Sorry,” Fitz said instantly. “I just meant the designs are easier, certainly not less valuable.”

Mrs. Coulson raised one sculpted brow and said, “Design me a faster one and all is forgiven.”

Fitz laughed but, when neither Mr. or Mrs. Coulson joined him, it tapered off to a nervous titter. 

“She’s not kidding,” Coulson said confidentially. “I run a little agency back in the states—we're just getting off the ground and we’re always looking for good people. Especially scientists. We mostly deal with science-related—well, _things_.”

“Things?” Fitz questioned. 

Coulson quirked his lips and said, “Yeah, phenomenon, I guess, but unless you come on board, it’s all classified.”

Fitz nodded. “Well, thanks for the, ehm, offer but I’m okay here for now.” He couldn’t help darting a glance at Jemma who was at the small bar chatting with Daisy.

“Oh, I get it, kid,” Coulson said with a grin and slapped Fitz on the back hard enough to make him take a half-step forward.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me hear your opinion, please comment/review. Your comments keep me going! And thanks very much for reading.


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